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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27393622">A Tale of Pigtails, Death, &amp; Cynics; Kisses Like Death, Like Poverty.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/beauty_love_stardust/pseuds/beauty_love_stardust'>beauty_love_stardust</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Alternate Canon, Anal Sex, Angel Kenny McCormick, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Anxiety, Bad Decisions, Barebacking, Bisexual Kenny McCormick, Boys Kissing, Broken Promises, Brother/Sister Incest, Bullying, Canon Compliant, Child Abuse, Child Murder, Cocaine, Codependency, Comfort/Angst, Confusion, Consensual Sex, Consensual Underage Sex, Coping, Cutting, Dark, Dark Past, Darkness, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, Declarations Of Love, Drugs, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, Dubious Ethics, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Roller Coaster, Emotional Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Repressed, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Feels, Family Issues, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Fuckbuddies, Fucked Up, Fucking, Gay Sex, Guilt, Healing, Healing Sex, Heavy Angst, Horny Teenagers, Identity Issues, Identity Porn, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Incest, Insults, Intoxication, Italics, Kissing, Love, Love/Hate, Lust, M/M, Magic, Major Character Injury, Manipulation, Marijuana, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mind Games, Multiple Pairings, Multiple Partners, Multiple Relationships, Murder, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Overuse of italics, POV Kenny, Painful Sex, Physical Abuse, Poor Life Choices, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Poverty, Promises, Protective Siblings, Protectiveness, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rebirth, References to Drugs, Regret, Rough Sex, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Separation Anxiety, Sex, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Confusion, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Shame, Sibling Incest, Small Towns, Smoking, Smut, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Teen Angst, Temporary Character Death, Tender Sex, Tenderness, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Touch-Starved, Touching, Touchy-Feely, Triggers, Twisted, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Underage Kissing, Underage Rape/Non-con, Underage Sex, Underage Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Abuse, Young Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:08:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>32,370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27393622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/beauty_love_stardust/pseuds/beauty_love_stardust</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere between, protecting his little sister, Karen, and comforting Stan whenever Wendy dumps him or Shelly abuses him, Kenny, has started to feel his soul crushing under the weight of so much obligation and pressure. Keeping so many secrets in the dark, is overwhelming to a fault, and to top it all off with constant deaths? Kenny may just come apart at the seams from it all.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>He can't say no, to either of them ... and therein lies the problem and his downfall ...</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Karen McCormick/Kenny McCormick, Karen McCormick/Mysterion, Kenny McCormick/Kevin McCormick, Stan Marsh/Kenny McCormick, Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Part one; correlations & appearances.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <i>Hello Lovelies!</i>
  <br/>
  <i>I have been wanting to write these pairings for a very long time, now, but I have never been quite able to get around to doing it! Lately, I've been re-watching South Park, however, (I admit I am a little behind on recent seasons) and ever since I was little, I've always adored Kenny's character! I feel like he is one of those characters that deserves far more fleshing out than the writer's have allotted him, especially when it comes to his arc as Mysterion. He clearly has the most commonsense of any of the other characters, and also seems to be the most sexually knowledgeable (from the start) of any other character. Which started me wondering precisely how he knows everything that he does at such a young age, which is why I began writing this out. I also loved the idea of throwing more than one pairing into this, because I feel like Kenny would be Stan's go-to person (maybe even more than Kyle) when it comes to certain subjects, and Karen is always going to be Kenny's number-one in alot of ways, so Kenny being torn between them is very believable to me. I plan to make a few parts out of this, I am not locked into a number just yet, possibly 3 or 4, depending on how many I feel is necessary to tell the completeness of this story! I have some of this mapped out, it's just going to take me a bit to write it. So, feel free to sub and/or bookmark this in the meantime! And I hope you all enjoy my take on Kenny, Karen, and Stan, and all their complicated, complexities! Fair warning, there will be all the triggers listed above, and more as I go! You have been warned!</i>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>A Tale of Pigtails, Death, &amp; Cynics; Kisses Like Death, Like Poverty.</em> </strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Only love and death</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>will change all things.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <strong><em>Part one; correlations &amp; appearances.</em> </strong>
  </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p><em>i. death &amp;</em> <strong><em>her</em></strong>.</p><p> </p><p><em>“You no good,</em> <em>son of a bitch!”</em> Crashes coincide the furious tone of Kenny’s, mother’s voice, as (what he assumes is) a bottle is thrown, obliterating into a million little pieces in the next room.</p><p>The boisterous sound is what startled him out of sleep, causing him to check his arms and legs, disbelieving that he’s all, <em>still</em>, in one piece.</p><p>It’s a <em>habit</em> of his, to make <strong>damn</strong> sure that he’s whole, when he first opens his eyes.</p><p>Though, for once, he’s aware that he’d just fallen asleep (quite accidently) when he settled on his mattress to fill in a few answers for his nightly homework.</p><p>He must have nodded off, which is unacceptable. And he fucking <em>knows</em> it.</p><p>Nine times out of ten, his no-good, <strong><em>shithead</em></strong> of a father, spends the night drinking and fighting with everyone in the house.</p><p>And Kenny is <em>required</em> to be there, for <em>Karen’s</em> own good.</p><p>He could give a shit about his elder brother. Kevin’s <em>never</em> given a shit about him, but Karen looks up to Kenny—she <em>needs</em> him to keep her safe.</p><p>“God <em>damn</em> it,” Kenny mutters to himself, scrubbing his hand loosely through his scruffy, blonde streaks of hair, easing his way onto his feet.</p><p>He isn’t quite prepared for this annoying-ass shit, tonight.</p><p>He’s still incredibly groggy from his <strong>interrupted</strong> nap, and unsteady on his feet, but he doesn’t have time to smoke some nicotine or <em>weed</em>, before he goes out there.</p><p>Instead, he reaches into his dresser drawer, and ekes out a line of coke, snorting it quickly with a rolled-up dollar-bill.</p><p>He sniffles a few times, instantly feeling the pick-me-up quality from the illegal substance, and figures he is about as ready as he will <em>ever</em> be to go out there and actually <strong><em>face</em></strong> this shit.</p><p>He forgoes his distinguished, red parka, heading out in only his boxers and gray sleepshirt, instead.</p><p>Padding down the hall, he makes it to the living room, his bloodshot-red eyes seeking out, Karen, in a frantic exhibit of instinctual concern. When they land on her, she’s stiffly situated on their family’s battered sofa, her eyes wide and frozen, with arms and legs, trembling.</p><p>Once he sees she’s <em>untouched</em>, he allows himself a hasty sigh of relief, before his eyes immediately seek out his filthy, bastard of a father.</p><p>He finds him just a few feet from the couch, beer in hand, and a wild, frenzied look in his eye.</p><p>Kenny knows that look well—it means his father has had a <em>significant</em> amount to drink tonight. This is really going to be un-<em>fucking</em>-pleasant.</p><p>Motherfucker—<em>Why him?</em></p><p>Kenny threatened his lousy parents on more than one occasion, swooping in as <em>‘Mysterion’</em> over the years, but the novelty had worn off, after a while.</p><p>Neither of them listened to <em>Mysterion</em> as well as they once did a couple years back.</p><p>“Don’t <em>you</em> throw things at <strong><em>me</em></strong>, you <strong><em>Bitch</em></strong>!” his father shouts, and lunges at his mother, throwing a punch, clocking her right in the face.</p><p>She flies to the ground, shouting profanities as she goes, and Kenny’s main concern, becomes getting Karen to his bedroom—to <strong><em>safety</em></strong>.</p><p>He makes a beeline for the couch and cups his sister’s cheeks in order to monopolize her attention, wiping the salty tears from just under her leaking eyes.</p><p>“C’mon, Karen, you <em>need</em> to get out of here …” he barely has the words out, before his father takes notice of him.</p><p>“Finally came out of that <em>room? </em>You <em>useless</em>, piece of <strong><em>shit</em></strong><em>?”</em> his father shouts, voice <em>booming</em>.</p><p>Karen’s standing by this point, and Kenny pushes her out of sight, behind him. Physically shielding her from view with his larger frame.</p><p>“Oh, <em>fuck off</em>, Dad! Stop <strong>terrorizing</strong>, Mom!” he jeers, anger coursing underneath his skin.</p><p>He really fucking <em>hates</em> this house. He <strong><em>hates</em></strong> his father—hates his <em>mother</em> for refusing to leave this son of a bitch, and he <em>especially</em> hates his <strong><em>life</em></strong>. It’s a fucking <em>train wreck</em>.</p><p>Every night it’s the same <strong><em>bullshit</em></strong>, every day of his life is another where he either <em>dies</em> (or <strong><em>almost</em></strong> dies) and he’s so damned <strong><em>sick</em></strong> of it.</p><p>He’s fucking sick of <strong><em>all</em></strong> of it!</p><p>“You keep <strong><em>running</em></strong> your mouth, Boy, and I will show you the <em>meaning</em> of terror!” his father fires back, a dangerous edge in his eyes.</p><p>Kenny experiences his stomach drop, like a pit, and he knows that this is going to be one of the worser nights.</p><p>Decidedly, he stands his ground, because if the <em>prick</em> is focused (primarily) on him than he <em>isn’t</em> focused on, Karen, and that’s <strong><em>all</em></strong> that truly matters.</p><p>“Run to my room and <em>lock</em> the door,” he whispers down to, Karen, in a split second of decision.</p><p>Her eyes flash with understanding—but also <em>fear</em>—and she hesitates.</p><p>“N-No … Kenny …” she argues, but he shoots her a look and she lowers her head, reluctantly heading off toward his bedroom.</p><p>“Hey! Where the fuck do <em>you</em> think <strong><em>you’re</em></strong> going?!” their father yells, but Kenny steps forward, the second their father makes an attempt to follow her.</p><p>Raising his hands, Kenny, <em>shoves</em> his father in the chest, sending him <strong>backwards</strong> a few measly steps.</p><p>Kenny has sprouted up the <em>tiniest</em> bit, since the first time he <strong>challenged</strong> his father, without fear. He was <em>eight</em> at the time, and it was shortly after his <em>first</em> death, outside the movie theater, way back. That also happened to be the <em>first</em> time his father, <em>dared</em> to strike <strong><em>Karen</em></strong>—he’d never stand for that.</p><p><strong><em>Never</em></strong>.</p><p>He’s <em>thirteen</em>, now, and more than used to the relentless abuse he suffers at his father’s <em>punishing</em> hands.</p><p>Immortality, was the <em>singular</em> superpower that he bragged—and the <em>one</em> thing that could keep his sister safe. He’d offer up and ruin his <strong><em>soul</em></strong> for her, that was never in question. Even, despite, the excruciatingly <em>taxing</em> toll it took on him.</p><p>It didn’t take <em>much</em> to rile up his shitty father. Just a well-placed <em>hit</em> here, or a <strong><em>kick</em></strong> there—and the bastard would fly off the handle and <em>completely</em> lose it.</p><p>Just like he was, <em>right now</em>.</p><p>“That’s <strong>it</strong>! You <em>asked</em> for it!” Just as, Kenny, hoped, his father lost all <em>semblance</em> of control and hauled off, wrestling him down to the ground.</p><p>What followed, was a series of kicks and hits that rendered Kenny <em>unconscious</em> in minutes, and as his eyesight became blurry, and all <em>light</em> flickered out and ebbed away, he felt every bit of the unparalleled <em>excruciation</em> as his body gave out—and he <em>died</em>.</p><p>His breathing stopped—<em>skin</em> <strong><em>paled</em></strong>—and the light overcame him, <em>again</em>. His final thoughts were of <em>Karen</em>—and how much he <em>loved her</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>xxxxxx</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p><em>“I’m sorry</em> … <em>I’m sorry,” </em>sniffles muffle into Kenny’s chest, <em>“K-Kenny …</em> <em>I’m sorry,”</em> the mantra of sweet, weighted apologies flood his senses, as the Earth tilts on its axis and Kenny actually believes his head might explode from profuse, <em>underlying</em> agony.</p><p>The brush of <em>silky</em> fingers swirl across his stomach and over his chest as it rises and falls, shakily.</p><p>Flashes of nightmares encroach on, Kenny’s, mind all at once, causing this indescribable stir of anxiety and panic. The unpleasant sensation of being beaten to <strong><em>death</em></strong>, still fresh in his memory banks.</p><p>Still, like a goddamned <em>nightmare</em> that pricks and surfaces from underneath his <em>replenished</em>, pink skin.</p><p>It is a really <em>shitty</em> feeling to wake up from your own <strong>death</strong>. Kenny’s entire <em>body</em> never fails to ache and groan with the fucking <strong><em>imprint</em></strong> of every remembered detail of whatever travesty he endured to cause it.</p><p><em>This</em> time, it was the residual sensation of <em>bruises</em> and <em>broken, cracked bones</em>, that would now proceed to ache for <em>days</em>.</p><p>It’s been almost two weeks since his <em>previous</em> death.</p><p>He tried so hard this time to avoid it, at <em>all</em> costs.</p><p>But when it comes down to Karen’s well-being, he will always <em>willingly,</em> sacrifice himself.</p><p>Cracking open his eyes, the blurry shape of light-chestnut hair and identical (<em>to his</em>) sapphire-blue eyes, is the first thing he recognizes.</p><p>It is <em>always</em> the same whenever he dies.</p><p>He always reappears in his bed, as though he <strong><em>never</em></strong> died at all, and Karen would be there, teary-eyed, listening for his <em>faint</em> heartbeat, when he <strong>finally</strong> came back out of it.</p><p>The fullness of her pouty lips are inches from his face and he can work out every detail of her precious, <em>pristine</em> skin.</p><p>She is <em>fine</em>—<em>she’s</em> <strong><em>safe</em></strong>—and that’s all that <em>ultimately</em> matters to him.</p><p>Sobs of relief emit from her lips, when she comes to the realization that he has <em>finally</em> woken up.</p><p>The house is quiet and the complete darkness in his room, alerts him to the fact that he’s been gone for hours. He can never be certain how long he’s away, because time passes differently in heaven.</p><p>It <em>always</em> has.</p><p>What feels like <em>days</em> in heaven, is mere <strong><em>hours</em></strong> back down on Earth.</p><p>He situates himself, upright, with tremendous difficulty, and shifts the mound of his <em>sister</em> onto his lap.</p><p>Straddling him, he realizes she’s donning his reddish-orange parka with the hood down, her youthful frame <em>swimming</em> in it.</p><p>“Shit, Karen. Don’t apologize,” he mutters, squeezing and rubbing the bulk of his aching eyes, as they readjust to their repaired sight.</p><p>Every rejuvenation of his body, feels <em>foreign</em>—<strong><em>different</em></strong>—in one way or another. Sometimes, his redeveloped body feels more like a <em>foreign</em> element, than an actual part of him.</p><p>Every body he’s ever <em>used</em>, has its <strong>quirks</strong> and <em>differences</em>.</p><p>This one feels a little bit <em>painful</em>, around his left shoulder and right knee. He realizes the muscles <em>are</em> a bit sore and figures he may have some semblance of trouble with them both, this time around.</p><p>God-fucking-damn, he <strong><em>despises</em></strong> his <em>‘rebirths’</em> so much.</p><p>Every time it happens, he prays it’s the last, and every time, it <em>never</em> fucking is.</p><p>“I <em>am</em>, though! I <strong><em>am</em></strong> sorry!” she cries between sniffles.</p><p>Karen fidgets on his lap, causing the inward press of her heavenly mound to drag against his newly <em>reformed</em>, boyhood, tucked away under his plaid boxers.</p><p>“<em>Fuck!” </em>he cries out, suddenly. Directly stilling her hips, with both hands.</p><p>She knows by now, what <em>that</em> kind of movement does to him. He might have been a bit, <em>too</em>, hasty when he indirectly permitted her access to his <strong><em>horny</em></strong> boy parts, when he maneuvered her down onto his lap.</p><p>His sensitivity to physical contact is one of the (<strong><em>best</em></strong>) <em>worst</em>, consequences of his continuous rebirths. His penile skin is always akin to that of a livewire for the first few days (if he even <em>lives</em> that long) <em>after</em> he returns. The foreskin dragging up and down the length of his rod, especially really fucks with him.</p><p>Prior to his first death, he was <strong><em>cut</em></strong> down there. But, every time he’s reborn, his foreskin grows in with his new prick.</p><p>He doesn’t know why and there is no one he can <strong><em>ask</em></strong>—but it definitely heightens his every sexual experience to have it there. Even <strong><em>masturbation</em></strong> is intense.</p><p>“Don’t <em>move</em> like that …” he warns her, after a few seconds of grasping for words and permitting his heartbeat to slow down. “You know <em>that</em> kind of thing <strong>can’t</strong> happen anymore …” he allows his voice to trail off with a heavy sigh, as he closes his eyes, willing the now-sprouted erection to deflate, again.</p><p>It <em>doesn’t</em>, however.</p><p>It <em>never</em> does when he commands it to.</p><p>He’s still making a relentless goddamned <strong><em>tent</em></strong> in his boxers.</p><p>Karen’s hands loosen around his puffy parka, allowing it to fall open and Kenny tries not to react, when he comes into the realization that his sister only has on one of <strong><em>his</em></strong> shirts bunched around her hips and her <em>panties</em> are on full display, underneath.</p><p>He tries and he fucking <strong><em>fails</em></strong>.</p><p>Fluctuating breaths of air falter from his lips, and he reaches, habitually, for one of the joints on his nightstand. However, she snaps up his lighter before <strong>he</strong> can grab it <em>himself</em>.</p><p>“Don’t avoid me, Big Brother,” she says it so <em>sweetly</em>, so <strong><em>angsty</em></strong>, that his heart nearly breaks on the spot.</p><p>“We’ve been <em>over</em> this, Kare, now hand it over,” he tries for harsh (even tries to use his ‘<em>Mysterion’</em> voice on her), but can barely achieve <em>tepid</em>.</p><p>Either way, she <em>isn’t</em> intimidated. He knows that <em>she</em> knows, that on the inside, he’s a fucking softy and she’s his <em>kryptonite</em>.</p><p>Well, <strong><em>her</em></strong> and <strong><em>one</em></strong> other …</p><p>“It’s <em>my</em> fault he killed you. I want to make it up to you … I want to help, make it better …” her whines are almost little mewls or whimpers and his steely-cock reacts with tiny throbs for each of her words, especially combined with the nearness of her girl-heat to his <em>sensitive</em> bit.</p><p>“It ain’t right, Kare, now give <em>back</em> my light,” he commands her, but she’s stubborn and upset and he can’t really, <em>fucking,</em> blame her, because she’s watched him die and come back so <em>many</em> times, now, that it’s probably <em>shattered</em> something in her psyche. He knows for a fact it has in <em>his</em>, anyway.</p><p>It isn’t <strong><em>natural</em></strong>.</p><p>He’s poised the joint in the corner of his mouth and he’s stunned when Karen flicks on the lighter and puts the tiny flame to the end of his joint, lighting it <em>herself</em>, then tosses the lighter aside.</p><p>Taking in a puff of weed smoke, Kenny, experiences the loosening of his limbs almost immediately. Though it does absolutely, <em>fucking,</em> <strong>nothing</strong> to diffuse the state of his erection.</p><p>He’s still rock-solid in his boxers.</p><p>“You touched me <em>first</em>, Ken,” she snaps with a whine, and his blood chills like ice in his veins.</p><p>“And I never should have done that, you know how <strong><em>guilty</em></strong> I feel about it—and <em>don’t</em> call me, <strong><em>Ken</em></strong>. You know I fucking <em>hate</em> that fucking man-doll, name,” he shoots back at her, but it’s half-hearted—<em>at</em> <em>best</em>—and he hates how <em>weak</em> he is for her.</p><p>He takes another puff of his joint, and she pulls it from between his fingers, taking a drag of her own.</p><p>“<em>Karen</em> …” he protests.</p><p>“Don’t call me, <em>Karen</em>. You know how it feels every <em>time</em> that you die, for me … a part of me is <em>petrified</em> that this time you <strong><em>won’t</em></strong> come back, that I’ve <strong><em>lost</em></strong> you … for <em>good</em> that time, and then you come back and you <em>push</em> me away …” she’s sniffling and trying to sound like a bad-ass, but she’s softening around the edges, just like him.</p><p>Pretty soon, she’s inching up his lap, again, and rubbing the crown of her girl-heat, right against his tented boxers, <em>sensually</em>.</p><p><strong><em>Fuck</em></strong>.</p><p>She never makes this <strong>easy</strong> on him. <em>Never</em>.</p><p>Kenny knew back when he let her in on his secret ‘superpower’ that she might actually be able to remember. And it’s like a curse. Because she does, now. Ever since he told her, like clockwork, she’s somehow able to remember and she’s here, in his <em>bed</em>—mourning him until he <strong><em>wakes</em></strong>.</p><p>It’s like some sick, cosmic-<strong><em>fucking</em></strong>-joke!</p><p>“Kare,” his hands fly down to her hips, again, stilling her tiny movements. <em>“Stop</em> <em>…” </em>he groans through clenched teeth.</p><p>“You’re <em>always</em> heightened and needy whenever you come back to me. So, why can’t we take care of it, <em>together? </em>Like you used to <em>always</em> take care of me …? Why do you have to <strong><em>fight</em></strong> it, Kenny? It’s not like it would be the <em>first</em> time …”</p><p>Tiny moans vibrate his throat as he tries not to think about <em>that</em>. It was <em>always</em> wrong, and deep down he’d always <strong><em>known</em></strong> that. He just denied it for so damned long, that he changed the dynamic between them, <em>irreversibly</em>-so.</p><p>“You <strong><em>know</em></strong> why,” he whispers, huskily.</p><p>“Because of <strong><em>Stan</em></strong>,” she somehow manages to sound bitter and <em>broken</em> all at once.</p><p>Jolts of emotion boil up in Kenny. His eyes shoot open, and cheeks flame red. She’s hit his <strong><em>other</em></strong> kryptonite right on the head—dragged it <em>bare</em> and <em>real</em> into the open. But he’d <em>never</em> admit it.</p><p>That wasn’t <em>right</em>, <strong><em>either</em></strong>. Those <em>shameful,</em> little things he did in the <em>dark</em> with his best friend …</p><p>Karen wasn’t supposed to <em>know</em> about that.</p><p>“Kare-Bear …” he softens the rest of the way to <em>mush</em> and tries to steady his heightened breath sounds.</p><p>She’s put the joint out on his nightstand and looks like she’s going to cry an <em>ocean</em> of tears.</p><p>“That’s it, isn’t it? You’d rather stick your <em>cock</em> in him?” she implies, with a cant of her head and lift of one questioning eyebrow.</p><p>Just the sound of that <em>dirty</em> word: <em>‘cock,’</em> coming out of his younger sister’s pouty lips, makes his blood shoot with fire and ice, simultaneously.</p><p>“You shouldn’t <em>talk</em> like that,” he scolds, his cheeks still blooming red.</p><p>“Why not? <strong><em>You</em></strong> do,” she inches closer and wets her lips with her tongue.</p><p>One of her hands drops down to palm the <em>tent</em> in his boxers, causing an indelicate hiss to spurn from his lips. His cock is aching like <strong><em>fuck</em></strong>—and swollen, <em>leaking</em> in his boxers.</p><p>Just her <em>touch</em> is stirring him, relentlessly.</p><p>“I’m your <em>brother</em> …” he groans, trying to keep his mind on track.</p><p>She thumbs the all-too-sensitive tip of his erection, causing him to stifle moans.</p><p>“<em>And</em> my guardian angel,” she points out, “and the <strong><em>only</em></strong> person that keeps me <em>safe</em>.”</p><p>She figured out he was <em>Mysterion</em> all on her own. She’d unmasked him, soon after they familiarized themselves with one another’s bodies, four years ago.</p><p>It was wrong then—and it’s wrong <strong><em>now</em></strong>.</p><p>Kenny knows that he’s corrupted her, but he’d been <em>littler</em> then—much less <em>knowledgeable</em> about the ways of men and women. Their parents have always been loose and careless when it comes to sex and drugs, which riddled him with curiosity that leaked into his relationship with Karen.</p><p>Kenny has <em>seen</em> their parents fuck, since he can <strong><em>remember</em></strong>. Sometimes, its in the living room, others on the floor or kitchen table. They are always so damn <em>casual</em> about it.</p><p>Their shame is <em>nonexistent</em>, and their limits, <strong><em>boundless</em></strong>.</p><p>That’s why he comforted, Karen, with curious touches when he was eight and she was five, and she would <em>climb</em> into his bed.</p><p><em>Curiosity</em>.</p><p>“This <strong><em>has</em></strong> to stop, Karen. This <em>obsession</em> with me, has to stop …” His throat runs dry and voice cracks.</p><p>Hurt swims in her eyes, and the pained expression he finds there, is almost unbearable. Her hand retracts and lips quiver.</p><p>“You don’t <em>love</em> me, anymore … that’s it, isn’t it? This is about <strong><em>him</em></strong> …” she presses.</p><p>His stomach churns and winds up with ache. How did he ever allow everything to get <strong><em>so</em></strong> fucked up? How the <em>fuck</em> did Karen find out about Stan?</p><p>He’s been so careful about it all these years. At least he <em>thought</em> he was, anyway.</p><p>It’s a <em>secret</em> <strong><em>shame</em></strong>—just like the <em>shame</em> he harbors about his sister. These two burdens are tearing him <em>up</em> inside to keep hidden.</p><p>“This is no, <strong><em>him</em></strong>, Kare. You and me … we aren’t <em>anything</em> to do with me and my friends,” he says the words. Forcing them out like they are <strong>poison</strong> on his tongue—because they <strong><em>are</em></strong>.</p><p>Kenny’s thumbs wipe proficiently at the tears that make trails down her cheeks. The close proximity to her—the <em>sensation</em> of her presence on his lap—is <em>overwhelming</em> him.</p><p>“If <em>he’s</em> not going to take <em>care</em> of you, then why can’t <strong><em>I</em></strong><em>?” </em>she argues and he is hit with <em>waves</em> of anguish.</p><p>He <em>needs</em> to fuck—that much is <strong>true</strong>—and every second he fights this is another second that he <em>burns</em> under the surface of his skin for her.</p><p>“There is no, <strong><em>him</em></strong><em>!” </em>Kenny grits his teeth, and steals the most dysfunctional of kisses from his sister’s impure lips.</p><p>Her purity is only <strong>robbed</strong> because he allowed it to be. He <strong>stole</strong> that innocence—and he forever <em>damaged</em> her. He made her <em>this</em> way and he feels so fucking <em>bad</em> about it.</p><p>So, <strong><em>fucking</em></strong>, bad.</p><p>Some guardian angel <strong><em>he</em></strong> is.</p><p>The kiss is returned with fervent hunger. Her mound pressing back to his rigid length, as she makes <em>tiny</em> little humps that fuel and tease his implacable arousal.</p><p>When the hungry kiss breaks, Kenny’s, breath is mangled and his blue eyes are shadowy with guilt.</p><p>“Pretend if you want, but I <strong><em>know</em></strong> you touch <em>him</em>, too,” she persists, with her fingers locked to his nightshirt.</p><p>Kenny growls, pushing a hand down between her legs, to thumb at the tiny <em>bump</em> of her clit through her panties. He knows from <strong>experience</strong> what his touch stirs in her.</p><p>She’s <strong>addicted</strong> to his kisses—to his <em>touches</em>—and that will <em>always</em> be his own damn fault.</p><p>Throwing back her head, with a hiss, her eyes roll back in their sockets.</p><p>“K-Kenny,” she quakes out, her limbs rattling and girl-heat pulsing under his <em>stimulating</em> attentions.</p><p>Thumbing over the center of her heat, he, slants kisses over the <em>curve</em> of her neck, across the jut of her jaw, and finally over the luscious <strong>fullness</strong> of her lips. He despises his own skin—<em>his <strong>bones</strong></em>—for loving her this way, for caving into these moments of depravity, but he can <em>never</em> seem to prevent himself.</p><p>Not when he’s an aching, <em>sordid</em> mess of replenishment.</p><p>He’s never stood a <em>chance</em> <em>in <strong>hell</strong></em>.</p><p>“I just want what’s fucking <em>best</em> for you, Kare-Bear. Why do you <em>torture</em> me this way? Huh?” he grunts.</p><p>“<em>You’re</em> what’s best for me, Big Brother. Would you rather I spread my thighs for <strong><em>another</em></strong> boy?” she asks, but he knows her well—its really just <em>another</em> mind game.</p><p>Another <em>tease</em> to drive a reaction.</p><p>And, <em>fuck,</em> if it doesn’t <strong><em>work</em></strong><em>!</em></p><p>Just the <em>image</em> of another <em>boy</em> on top of her, makes his blood seethe and skin <strong>swelter</strong>.</p><p>That’s <em>out</em> of the question! No boy is going to stick his cock in <strong><em>his</em></strong> Kare-Bear!</p><p>“I’ll fucking <em>kill</em> anyone that so much as <strong>tries</strong> to fucking <em>touch</em> you,” he threatens, automatically through a hiss.</p><p>“Even, <em>Stan?”</em> she goads, and his mind practically <em>snaps</em> like a stick.</p><p>The unpleasant image of Stan-<em>fucking</em>-Marsh, climbing on top of <strong><em>his</em></strong> sister, positioning kisses across her creamy-pink body, and whispering sweet little <em>nothings</em> in her ears, sends him into a frenzy of possessiveness.</p><p>“<em>Especially</em>, Stan!” he reacts with a loud growl, seeing red.</p><p>Her delicate fingers muddle into his blond streaks of hair, smoothing the strands with little sweeps. Those perfect, pink lips parting in little gasps as <em>he</em> proceeds to slake his fingers across her responsive skin.</p><p>She squeaks, immediately when he reacts, jerking her petite hips this way and that in tremendous urgency.</p><p>“Please, Kenny, <em>please</em> …” He can hear the significant tremor in her voice that indicates her <strong>loosening</strong> capabilities, and the pulse in his veins that screams for him to indulge in her—is reaching <em>unbearable</em> heights.</p><p>This is fucked <strong><em>sideways</em></strong>, same as it has <em>always</em> been, but she’s relentless. Bringing up Stan, so casually—<em>so</em> <strong><em>carelessly</em></strong>—!</p><p>It’s <em>really</em> fucked him up!</p><p>He knows that he’s at fault for the way <em>she</em> is, and that he should kick her out of his bedroom, but he <strong><em>can’t</em></strong>.</p><p><em>God</em>-<strong><em>fucking</em></strong>-<em>help</em> him, he just, <em>fucking</em>, <strong><em>can’t</em></strong>!</p><p>He’s the only bit of protection she has in this godforsaken house. And, fucked-up as it is, she’s <em>his</em> only shelter from the mental anguish he consequently suffers through, with every return from the dead.</p><p>Her ability to <em>somehow</em>, remember, is the only source of comfort that he, himself, has, when he inevitably wakes back up from all the <em>suffering</em>.</p><p>Kissing trails along the width of her neck, Kenny, pushes his nose against the crevices in <em>gentle</em> nudges, allowing his rough fingers to traverse along her sides. He anticipates the <strong>delicate</strong> quivering of her pristine flesh, knowing just how much she rejoices in his every caress.</p><p>“This shit <strong><em>has</em></strong> to fucking stop, Kare …” he mutters, but she’s already latched onto his boxer’s waistband, coaxing it underneath the protrusion of his <em>weepy</em> cockhead, triggering him to stir and hiss.</p><p>“Your <em>death</em> … it was <em>my</em> fault, again … I want to <em>fix</em> it, Kenny, I <strong><em>need</em></strong> to fix it …” she reasons, and slides the drenched panel of her panties against the leaky tip, while making little hitches and moans in her throat. “Like <strong>all</strong> the times <strong><em>you</em></strong> fix things for me …”</p><p>“<em>F-Fuck!</em>” he hisses, through a harsh intake of air.</p><p>With frenzied passion, he halts <em>rubbing</em> her clit, and hastily peels aside her panties, sliding into her slick-wet opening, in one impulsive progression of his hips.</p><p>The stretchy, soaked folds splay and envelope around his leaking boyhood with practiced ease. He’s been submerged in her illustrious girl-heat enough times to have conditioned her sex to take him, <strong><em>painlessly</em></strong>.</p><p>The very <em>first</em> time she <strong>cried</strong> in his arms, when the bulk of him tore through her <em>hymen</em> and effectively stole away her girlhood. He’d known, then, that this was <em>twisted </em>and their touches had gone well <strong><em>past</em></strong> the mark—but she’d begged him <strong><em>not</em></strong> to stop and he’d given into her <em>indulgent</em> pleas, unable to fight the raging hormonal impulses that ravaged his moral compass.</p><p>Now, she trembles astride his lap, and drives her hips forward, <em>rutting</em> for friction, capably stimulating the both of them at once.</p><p><em>“Yes!</em> <strong>Fuck</strong>, <strong><em>yes</em></strong><em>!”</em> she cries and ruts harder. Plowing the ridge of the mattress into the wall behind them.</p><p>Neither of them has ever quite mastered the art of being stealthy when it comes to intimacy. Kenny is well aware that their parents wouldn’t care—or even bat an eyelash—if one of their children were being <strong><em>murdered</em></strong> (<em>Kenny would fucking know!</em>) let alone, care about the noises they made in their <strong>respective</strong> bedrooms.</p><p> It doesn’t make the <em>shame</em> burn any less, but it manages to help draw him deeper into the thick of these <strong>disturbing</strong> compulsions.</p><p><em>“Shit!</em> Kare, <strong>fuck</strong>!” he grunts out, half-mindlessly, as he wrangles for control. Managing to grasp hold of her hips, he helps steel her against him, creating glorious friction that drives them both closer to their proximal edge.</p><p>“K-Kenny, touch me! <em>Please!”</em> she whines, between moans of mounting frustration and he knows precisely what she’s begging for, without needing to ask her to elaborate.</p><p>She’s always needed an extra boost to be sent over her lingering edge. It’s messed up, but he knows her body better (<em>probably</em>) than even <strong>she</strong> does, he’s spent so much time, exploring it over the years.</p><p>“Only if you <em>promise</em> me something, Kare,” he grunts, trying to gear himself back from his impending climax that’s building.</p><p>“K-Kenny … <em>A-Angel</em> …” she’s already pouting, using every weakness against him, that she knows.</p><p>Admittedly, his heart does weaken when he hears the <em>latter</em>.</p><p>She only calls him <em>‘Angel’</em> when he’s in his costume. More than once she’s had him dress up to play out her fantasies, but he doesn’t do <strong><em>that</em></strong> anymore—he stopped when he told her <strong><em>this</em></strong> was over six months ago.</p><p>Now, he only dons his <em>‘Mysterion’</em> persona if she’s in danger from outside forces.</p><p>In these last six months, she’s managed to take advantage of his <em>male</em> weaknesses more than a <strong><em>couple</em></strong> of times …</p><p>“Promise, you <em>won’t</em> fuck, Stan,” he hisses out, sharply. “And promise, <em>this</em> <strong><em>stops</em></strong>, Karen. This <em>obsession</em> …” he elaborates between heavy intakes of air.</p><p>“I don’t <strong><em>want</em></strong>, Stan!” she hisses back. “P-Please, Angel! I just want <strong><em>you</em></strong> …” she purrs like a kitten when she says the last bit, and his heart <em>melts</em>.</p><p>It’s not just the act itself that has him backed right up to the brink of <em>insanity</em> about this. It’s how attached he’s become—how attached he knows that she, <strong><em>too</em></strong>, has become.</p><p>“Kare-Bear!” he finds himself grunting out, one of his arms twisting around her waist to draw her reflexively into his front, squashing their bodies together, basking in their combined heat.</p><p>“F-Fine!” she sniffles, and he feels her tears starting to wet his neck as she burrows her face into the side. “I-I <strong><em>promise</em></strong> …”</p><p>She bursts into fits of tears that simultaneously break his heart, and he reluctantly veers his hand down to offer swirly rubs to the bud of her clit. Stroking her through the sensation, seamlessly.</p><p>All the while, he tries to keep his own <strong><em>composure</em></strong> as she comes apart in his arms.</p><p>He’s always allowed her to release <em>first</em>, always managed to hold himself back until he’s <em>ready</em> to spill—and he <em>does</em>.</p><p>Blinding, white lights go off behind his closed eyelids, as he deflates into her tight, <strong><em>scorching</em></strong> heat. The friction a <strong>welcome</strong> master as he loses himself to the most <strong><em>luxurious</em></strong> of acts.</p><p>Maybe he’s a <em>sex</em> <em>addict</em>, maybe its because of the ridiculous amount of sensitively <strong><em>regrown</em></strong> skin between his thighs, or maybe it’s just who <em>he</em> is—but sex and pleasure is something he’s <strong><em>always</em></strong> completely <em>lost</em> himself to.</p><p>The act can <strong><em>excite</em></strong> him, <strong>relax</strong> him, or <em>rile</em> him—but with Karen, he’s always experienced a <strong>combination</strong> of all <em>three</em> at <strong><em>once</em></strong>.</p><p>This time, however, his distinct guilt from breaking his sister’s heart is <em>also</em> an unwelcome guest muddled into his <strong>explosive</strong> finish.</p><p>He’s touched more girls than he can count. Fucked, kissed, pretended to love, so <em>many</em> of them. But none of them compare with Karen. They are just <em>throwaways</em> that he latches onto because his cock is newly-formed and really, <em>really</em> raw with sensation.</p><p>And then there is <strong><em>Stan</em></strong>.</p><p>Stan is something else, <strong><em>entirely</em></strong>.</p><p>The faceless girls, Kenny, <em>seeks <strong>out</strong></em>—but that’s not how it <strong><em>works</em></strong> with Stan.</p><p>Kenny pants through his release, the hot rush of slick filling up his little sister, heating the space conjoining them.</p><p>This is <em>wrong</em>. But its always felt so <strong><em>right</em></strong> in the moment—so fucking <em>heavenly!</em></p><p>And he <em>knows</em> heaven, better than <strong><em>anyone</em></strong>.</p><p>It’s not <em>fucking</em> fair!</p><p>This time, though, it isn’t <em>heaven</em> he comes back down to.</p><p>It’s <strong><em>hell</em></strong>.</p><p>Because Karen’s here, in his arms, tucked in tight like a turtle. Trembling bodily against his front, letting out little hitches of air from between her pouty lips. And worst of all, are the salty tears making tracks down her cheeks.</p><p>Her eyes are puffy with swollenness, and her shoulders quaking with sobs.</p><p>She may have gushed girl-juices onto his cock, that slicked both of their youthful skin, but she’s a mess of emotional pain. The kind that Kenny, or Mysterion, have always been able to fix.</p><p>“Kare, please … <em>please</em> don’t cry …” he swipes at her eyes with his thumbs, trying to soothe the <strong><em>ache</em></strong> he’s left in her.</p><p>He doesn’t like to think about the reasons he <strong>chose</strong> to let this intimacy <em>go</em> in the <strong><em>first</em></strong> place. It was more than just her <em>supreme</em> <strong><em>attachment</em></strong> to him.</p><p>It was also, the way she <em>smiled</em> up at him one of the last times he purposefully made love to her and asked such a simple, if not completely <em>fucked-up</em> question.</p><p>
  <em>‘Will I have your babies, Kenny?’</em>
</p><p>The memory swarms through his mind like a feasting hoard of locusts, swallowing his <strong>reality</strong> whole.</p><p>He’d been stunned at the time, at a complete <em>loss</em> of words, because despite the fact that they’d been intimate for <strong><em>years</em></strong>, that one simple thought had never <strong>occurred</strong> to him, before.</p><p>Could he put his <em>children</em> in her?</p><p>He remembered the extensive bullshit <em>‘sex-ed’</em> lessons he’d had to suffer through back in fourth grade, (when he was <strong><em>her</em></strong> age!), and how the teacher had promised that sex would lead to <strong>fatherhood</strong>. He’d fucked off for the most part in that class, finding reasons to ignore the teachings (because he felt he already knew <em>enough</em> about it to get by) but he now knew, that wasn’t the case.</p><p>This isn’t the life he <em>wants</em> for Karen.</p><p>A life of carrying her own <strong><em>brother’s</em></strong> children, living in poverty because he can’t give her anything proper, and the <em>notoriety</em> in this godforsaken town of being her brother’s lover …</p><p>He wouldn’t let her <em>endure</em> that, because even <em>Mysterion</em> could never hope to fend off the revolting torment Cartmen would <strong>indelibly</strong> send their way, once he caught wind of the situation at hand.</p><p>They would <em>never</em> live down the <em>‘White Trash’</em> jokes and god fucking knows what else, that vile bastard would have in store.</p><p>Leaning in, Kenny, offered the <em>tenderest</em> of kisses to her lips, trying to soothe some of the pain he’s brought to the surface, but she’s <strong><em>not</em></strong> having it.</p><p>She retracts from the kiss, with a little sniffled out whine, and his hands <em>follow</em> her cheeks, keeping them cupped between his rough hands.</p><p>“You’re <em>not</em> gay. I <strong><em>know</em></strong> you’re not gay …” she whines, between hampered breaths.</p><p>“No, I’m <em>not</em> gay, Kare,” he offers, a little taken aback by those words.</p><p>“Then why don’t you love me like you <em>did?</em> What made you <em>stop</em>, Angel? What did I <strong><em>do</em></strong><em>?</em> Why do you turn to <em>others?</em> Why <strong><em>him</em></strong><em>?”</em> she says it with such conviction, that he doesn’t have any doubt that she actually <em>believes</em> what she’s saying.</p><p>She has actually <strong>convinced</strong> herself that he doesn’t fucking <em>love</em> and <strong>want</strong> her. Even after <strong><em>all</em></strong> of this …</p><p>Why can’t he get through to her that this is <em>wrong?</em> More than just <em>wrong</em>—what he does with <strong><em>Stan</em></strong> is fucking wrong—this is … this is beyond <strong>depraved</strong>, it’s downright <strong><em>certifiable</em></strong><em>!</em></p><p>“Fucking hell, Kare-Bear …” he grumbles, wearily, trying to wrack his brains for a <em>suitable</em> answer.</p><p>“I <strong>do</strong> love you, Kare, but I won’t let you be my <em>Juliet</em>, okay? My life is one god-damn fuck-up after another, and I want <strong>better</strong> for you. I <strong><em>demand</em></strong> better for you, that’s why I started dressing up and <em>coming</em> to you, in the first place. It was to try and build you <strong>up</strong> … It wasn’t supposed to get so fucking fucked-up and <strong><em>depraved</em></strong> like this, Kare!”</p><p>He <em>was</em> at fault. <strong><em>Completely</em></strong>.</p><p>She might have <em>needed</em> comforting hugs and kisses, but the initial <em>touches</em> started with him.</p><p>He originally intended to provide her a <strong>distraction</strong> from their shitty environment. He’d already begun to touch and <em>explore</em> male body parts, before the first time he <em>touched</em> her. Simply wanted to elevate her out of the rank <em>stench</em> of their home and the harsh shouting of their <strong><em>asshole</em></strong> parents.</p><p>Touch that made her <strong><em>squirm</em></strong> and make contented little hiccups into the <em>side</em> of his neck, seemed like a good idea, <em>at the</em> <strong><em>time</em></strong>. It had stopped her <em>terrified</em> crying in her guardian angel’s arms, after all.</p><p>And after he was <em>unmasked</em> by her … well, it just became their <strong><em>solace</em></strong>.</p><p>“I’m the only one that knows what <em>happens</em> to you, Angel! I’m the only one you can turn to that <strong>understands</strong>! That loves you and <em>mourns</em> you every single <em>time</em> that you die! I’ve broken in <strong><em>half</em></strong> for you! You can’t expect me to <em>stop</em> loving you, just because you don’t think you’re <strong>good</strong> enough! It’s not <strong><em>fair</em></strong>, Angel! Because in your eyes, no one will <strong><em>ever</em></strong> be good enough!” she hurls back at him, clenching her hands into fists.</p><p>It was a <em>solid</em> point, one hundred percent true, to be <strong><em>accurate</em></strong>.</p><p>Whenever he so much as envisioned her with someone else, it fucking <em>pained</em> him. With trembling hands, he reached for one of hers and linked his digits with hers. Tracing the back of her hand with his thumb.</p><p>“You’re my <strong><em>baby</em></strong> sister, of course they won’t,” he sighs out, softening again, like <em>putty</em> at her whim.</p><p>With a jerk of her hips, she seeks to remind him that they are <strong>still</strong> joined together—<em>cock and cunt</em>—and his body twitches in reflex. His sore thigh, shooting with a sudden cramped ache, from being in the same position for, too long.</p><p>“You’ve already tainted me, Kenny,” she implies, moving her hips in order to work him up, again, and succeeds. “I <em>already</em> belong to <strong>you</strong>, and you can’t just <em>expect</em> me to live a normal existence, when I’ve known what it’s like to be <em>with</em> my guardian angel.”</p><p>Jolts of fire course through his system, stimulating his nerves and stroking his heart into a <strong><em>powerful</em></strong> rhythm.</p><p>“Fucking hell! Kare!” he grunts, hoarsely.</p><p>“You said <em>yourself</em>, not even your <strong><em>best</em></strong> friend, will do. So, who then? Who <strong><em>is</em></strong> my, Romeo, if it isn’t <em>you</em>, Kenny?”</p><p>He wants to <strong>scream</strong>. Craves the sensation of releasing his <em>darkest</em> inner pieces in grief and warning, all at once.</p><p>She’s <em>riding</em> him and <strong><em>taunting</em></strong> him. It’s a lot for <em>anyone</em> to fucking handle. But especially him. He’s a goddamned, <strong><em>fucking</em></strong> mess!</p><p>“For your sake, I hope no one is your Romeo, Kare. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you,” he admits with a quivering jaw and tears in mirrored in his own sapphire eyes.</p><p>Her mouth sets into a troubled line and her spare hand tethers into his mane of hair, dragging up the base of his long neck.</p><p>“I’m not a throwaway girl, Angel … you used to tell me that … Remember?” His heart strikes with guilt-riddled emotion. “Whenever you hooked-up with another girl and you’d come home smelling like her, you’d whisper that I’m not a throwaway like they were.”</p><p>He suddenly feels like the immense heat between them is suffocating him. He’s said so many things to her over the span of their lives … so many little whispers meant to <strong><em>comfort</em></strong> … But he would seek out those girls because of the overwhelming regret and blame he harbored for himself, under the crippling knowledge that his love ruined his only sister.</p><p>He’d tried more than once to stop these intimacies between them. But other girls didn’t satisfy him like her …</p><p>“I know,” he finally relents with conspicuous eyes. “I know what I said, Kare-Bear.”</p><p>“You threw me away, Kenny,” she simpers. “You threw me away and you fuck every girl that you possibly can. And you’ve taken so many hard drugs … you said I wasn’t a throwaway … but you lied …”</p><p>He reaches down and latches on to her side, feeling the warmth of her flesh, heated by his favorite puffy parka, that she hasn’t taken off.</p><p>With instinctive angst he steals a proper kiss from her lips. Raw, tender, emotional.</p><p>He can’t take this. All of these <strong><em>damned</em></strong> emotions.</p><p>He’s always shut them out with the drugs she’s talking about. He feels, too, deeply and, too, recklessly, too, fucking often. He’s a hot fucking mess and she appears to see it for herself now.</p><p>She’s old enough to recognize that her beloved guardian angel, isn’t perfect.</p><p>He never really was.</p><p>He never <em>deserved</em> the fucking pedestal she’s placed him upon.</p><p>“I didn’t throw you away, Kare.” He makes the split-second decision to hoist her up and off of his cock. Allowing his sensitive length to fall out of her girl-heat, permitting slick to coat their privates.</p><p>“You did!” she argues with a gasp.</p><p>“No,” he sighs his relief at being able to think, somewhat clearly, again, now that they aren’t physically joined, “I will never throw you away, Kare-Bear. I just need space, okay? There’s so much shit that I deal with … and I don’t want you to get caught in the crosshairs of my shit.”</p><p>She pouts again and she looks so damned beautiful when she pouts …</p><p>“But it’s not fair, Kenny! It’s not fucking fair! I love you!” she whines out and he lets out a collective sigh.</p><p>“What if I promise to touch you? Hm?” he softens his words with another stolen kiss. “I’ll promise to kiss you, and comfort you … but it can’t be more than that, okay? And you need to give me space, sometimes, Kare-Bear … I need my own space …”</p><p>Loving her was difficult, at times. Loving in <strong><em>general</em></strong> has always been difficult for, Kenny, because of the vulnerability it stirred. It wasn’t just love, though, it was the pressure he was under.</p><p>With school, masquerading as Mysterion, and dealing with his friends and their continuous bullshit, he was ready to crack under it all.</p><p>The most hard-hitting, however, were his continuous deaths. It really fucked him up—dying all the time and having to deal with a new body, <strong><em>constantly</em></strong>.</p><p>Sometimes, he needed the drugs just to cope with the tremors and the PTSD.</p><p>“You already have your own space … I don’t get to sleep in your bed so much anymore … you haven’t let me …” she reasons, dejectedly and he feels like even more of a fucking asshole.</p><p>Sometimes, Stan spends the night.</p><p>Sometimes, he spends the night at Stan’s …</p><p>Other’s he wakes up next to a casual hookup.</p><p>He’s been around a lot less often and he owns that. Especially on the weekends. But he keeps watch over her with help of his smart phone and a few security cameras he bought with his saved allowance and a few odd jobs around the neighborhood.</p><p>If she needs him, he’s always found a way to be here.</p><p><strong><em>Always</em></strong>.</p><p>“You can stay here, tonight, Kare, okay?” he gestures to the empty space at his side, and her little face lights right up.</p><p>“Do you mean it?” She bundles his parka around her frame, hugging tight to the outside.</p><p>“Yeah, I do,” he reiterates, forcing a smile.</p><p>All he knows is that he’s fucking exhausted and he needs to sleep. It’s come over him all of the sudden. Maybe it’s the minute traces of weed that he smoked before their love making, or maybe it was the loving making itself, but he’s barely able to keep his eyes open.</p><p>He thinks it may be this emotional conversation that has him beat, but whatever it is, he decides that he’s made up his mind.</p><p>He’s a fucking asshole and the least he can do is let his little sister sleep here. He’s thoroughly messed her up when it comes down to loving anyone else, and he doesn’t know how to fix her.</p><p>Not even <strong><em>remotely</em></strong>.</p><p>Karen reaches for the cheap, stuffed doll that he bought for her, years back. She is never far from it, even after four years of holding onto it.</p><p>Hugging it tight to her petite frame, she curls up at his side and they both, bunker down under the warm confines of his covers.</p><p>“I love you, Angel,” she sighs against his chest, tickling his skin with her breath.</p><p>He reaches up an arm and scuffles her hair, gently, and plants a kiss to her forehead.</p><p>“Despite what you think, I love you, too, Kare-Bear,” he whispers, “more than anyone in the world.”</p><p>“More than, Stan?” she probes, and a slew of heat courses underneath his skin.</p><p>He wonders why she’s latched onto Stan. What exactly did she witness transpire between them? He should have been more careful …</p><p>“Yes, even more than, Stan,” he tells her, even though his mind screams at him, that he loves them both the same. And maybe that’s half the problem, right there. He’s torn between two forces. Two, <strong><em>wrong</em></strong> loves …</p><p>Deciding not to dwell on such thoughts, he closes his eyes, draws her in tight, and desperately seeks sleep, yearning to fall into the abyss of ever-lingering darkness.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>ii. death &amp; <strong>him</strong>.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The <em>kiss</em> of air blows through the furry hood of his red-parka, and across the tip of his nose, as he walks through the <em>crunching</em>, snow-covered grass, toward the pond.</p><p>Two weeks has passed since his <strong><em>last</em></strong> death at his father’s <em>cruel</em> hands and the ache in his knee and shoulder have remained an <em>obnoxious</em> constant. He can still feel the joints pop and click with every movement, <strong><em>especially</em></strong>, when he’s out in the cold.</p><p>God-fucking-damn, he hates his <em>latest</em> body.</p><p>He’s thought about shooting himself in the head, so he might wake up in a (<em>hopefully</em>) better one, but decides against it, because for once, he wants to try to live <em>without</em> dying.</p><p>Just once, it would be nice to not have the impending happenstance of his death, hovering over him like a little black <em>fucking</em> raincloud.</p><p>But the likelihood of <strong>not</strong> being killed is <em>very</em> low.</p><p>He’s managed to thwart Karen’s various attempts to seduce him, these last two weeks, although, that, too, has been <strong>increasingly</strong> difficult.</p><p>He finds reasons to keep their clothes in place when he offers her the kisses and touches, he <em>promised</em> he’d give her. But he can still sense the discontentment in her, whenever he seeks to keep her at arm’s length.</p><p>It’s a, Saturday, today, and Kenny ponders what he might do with himself.</p><p>He left his house early this morning, <em>without</em> a solid plan in mind.</p><p>Puffing on the joint, balanced between his fingers, he lets out the <em>air</em> on the wind, with a sigh. He’s currently high on both the line of cocaine he snorted prior to heading out, and the joint that’s almost smoked down to <strong>pittance</strong> in his hand.</p><p>Karen is at a friend’s house for the weekend, which has taken a little of the pressure off of his overworked frame. He doesn’t have to keep a tight lid on her, (or remember to check his phone for the cameras) meaning he can <em>actually</em> relax.</p><p>He’s constantly on edge when he leaves her alone in that fucking hellhole, they call home.</p><p>His parents were passed out on the couch when he left this morning, and Kevin hasn’t been home in <strong><em>days</em></strong>.</p><p>That’s par for the course, really. Kevin washed his hands of <em>all</em> this shit, years ago. Despite being the oldest, he doesn’t seem to fucking <strong><em>care</em></strong> at all about the well-being of his siblings. He <em>never</em> fucking has.</p><p>So, <strong><em>Kenny</em></strong>, is the protector.</p><p>
  <em>What <strong>else</strong> is new?</em>
</p><p>Pulling the last little hit from the joint, Kenny, throws the stubby ashes onto the ground, and kneels down in the snow, staring off across the pond at the ducks, swimming casually, despite the <em>frigid</em> temperatures.</p><p>He marvels at their ability to not <strong>feel</strong> the agony that comes with <em>freezing</em>. He’s died by hypothermia before, it wasn’t a good sensation, though it <em>was</em> a <strong>memorable</strong> one.</p><p>Just as he ponders about heading over to Cartman’s to see what the three of them are up to, today, his phone buzzes in his pocket.</p><p>Fishing it out, he recognizes, Stan’s, smiling face staring back at him on the caller-ID screen. Sliding to answer, Kenny, lifts the phone to his ear.</p><p>“What’s up, Dude?” he greets, casually, as he rises back up to his feet.</p><p>He’s met with sobs on the other end of the phone and his heart immediately skips a beat. This isn’t the <em>first</em> time, Stan’s, called him in a fit of tears, and it <em>won’t</em> be the last.</p><p>“K-Kenny …” Stan sniffles out, around a few choked sobs that muffles his speech, slightly. “S-She fucking <strong><em>h-hates </em></strong>me, K-Kenny … she f-fucking said s-so … and I … I c-can’t <strong>live</strong> without h-her … I c-can’t …”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Fuck.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Kenny knew exactly who <em>‘she’</em> is, without needing to ask.</p><p>Wendy-<em>fucking</em>-Testaburger.</p><p>She’s snapped Stan’s heart into <strong>smithereens</strong> more times than Kenny is willing to count. She’s a selfish, stuck-up, little <strong><em>cunt</em></strong> and she takes Stan for granted so often that it makes Kenny want to <strong><em>strangle</em></strong> her.</p><p>He has absolutely <em>no</em> qualms with beating up a <strong><em>girl</em></strong>. He’s done it before for, Karen, as <em>Mysterion</em>. He’d gladly take up the mantle again, if Stan <em>asked</em> him to.</p><p>But, Stan, is much, too, soft when it comes to <strong><em>her</em></strong>. He always has been and always <em>will</em> be.</p><p><em>“Fuck</em> … Calm <strong><em>down</em></strong>, Man,” Kenny breathes, panic settling into his voice. “Tell me what you <strong><em>need</em></strong> …”</p><p>He knows what happens when shit gets <em>bad</em> for Stan. He doesn’t want to lose him … It’s <em>selfish</em>, but Kenny needs him, too <strong><em>fucking</em></strong> much, to lose him.</p><p>Stan sniffles again on the other end, and Kenny can almost hear the turning gears in Stan’s mind.</p><p>“Y-You <em>know</em> what I n-need …” his voice is barely a whisper and it sends shivers spiraling straight down Kenny’s spine, because it’s been two months since Stan asked him.</p><p>Two, excruciatingly-<em>long</em>, months.</p><p>“I’m on my way,” he concedes, then adds in as an afterthought, “and don’t do anything <strong><em>rash</em></strong>, before I get there … <em>Please</em>, Stan,” he half-pleads.</p><p>Stan doesn’t answer, and the line goes dead.</p><p>“God fucking Damn it, Stan!” he yells to no one in-particular as he shoves the phone in his pocket and hurries toward his best friend’s house.</p><p>It takes <em>ten</em> <em>minutes</em>, tops, to walk over there, and he heads inside without so much as knocking first, in his rush to get to Stan.</p><p>He knows that Stan can’t be left alone when he’s like this. Thanks to years of emotional and physical abuse both at home and from Wendy, Stan’s mental state has deteriorated over the years, despite Kenny’s best efforts to keep him sane and happy, nothing has actually succeeded.</p><p> The house is quiet, which means everyone else has gone out, but he can hear the sobs coming from Stan’s bedroom, which means Stan has been completely alone!</p><p>Fucking fantastic!</p><p>Kenny throws open the door, and finds Stan hunkered down on his bed, curled into a measly ball, completely red-faced and sobbing. But that’s not the worst of it …</p><p>Kenny recognizes the harsh bruise on Stan’s cheek, and the busted lower-lip he’s sporting, and he’s willing to bet there are countless <em>other</em> bruises, concealed underneath Stan’s clothes.</p><p>Lowering his hoody (which he only ever does for Stan and Karen), Kenny, kicks off his shoes and climbs up onto Stan’s bed, drawing him <em>tight</em> into his arms.</p><p>“What the <strong><em>fuck</em></strong>, happened to your face?” Kenny seethes under his skin, waiting for an answer.</p><p>Stan doesn’t meet his eyes, but whispers, “<em>S-Shelly</em> …” and trails off.</p><p>That’s really <strong><em>all</em></strong> Kenny needs to hear.</p><p>Shelly has been hurting, Stan, <strong><em>forever</em></strong>.</p><p>Kenny has wanted to kick the shit out of her for years, too, but Stan won’t allow him to. He insists it would only make things worse, but Kenny has different thoughts on the matter.</p><p>Kenny can’t take much more of this … <strong><em>any</em></strong> of this fuckery.</p><p>“Fuck <em>her</em>, Stan …” he insists, “and fuck <strong><em>Wendy</em></strong>, too!”</p><p>At the mention of Wendy’s name, Stan, bursts into even more prolific tears, until his nose is running and his shoulders <em>shaking</em>.</p><p>“I’m just a fucking l-loser, Kenny … No girl will <strong><em>ever</em></strong> love me …” he whines out with little cries of ache in his throat.</p><p>Those words stab hard into Kenny’s chest and for a moment he doesn’t even grasp the reason <strong><em>why</em></strong>, until it hits him that Stan said <em>‘girl’</em> like they were the only ones <em>capable</em> of love … <em>of</em> <strong><em>emotions</em></strong>.</p><p>Swallowing the thickness in his throat, Kenny, delicately traveled his hand along the front of Stan’s shirt, in order to cup his unbruised cheek and swipe away his falling tears.</p><p>“Shh, I’m <em>right</em> here. I’ve <strong>got</strong> you …” Kenny breathes out and is suddenly thankful for the darkness in Stan’s bedroom. With the darkening curtains up at Stan’s windows, the room is exceptionally depleting of light for the daytime.</p><p>Only under the cover of <em>darkness</em>, does Stan ever allow him <strong>this</strong> close … darkness or <em>drunkenness</em>.</p><p>Usually <strong>both</strong> …</p><p>In the next instant, Stan’s lips, are crashing against his own. Slaking the hot wetness of saliva across Kenny’s lower pout, drawing him closer with the hot palm of one of his hands latched onto the red-parka.</p><p>Stan isn’t heavily drunk, but Kenny can taste traces of the <em>bitter</em> liquid in his kiss. It’s enough to make him shudder with the proof of intoxication driving Stan into his arms.</p><p><strong><em>Fuck</em></strong>.</p><p>This kind of twisted bullshit has to <em>stop</em> between them …</p><p>But Kenny can never voice it, properly, because Stan just <em>needs</em> him … and Stan’s <em>needs</em> trump everything else in these moments.</p><p>It’s a burden and yet another <strong>crushing</strong> weight … but it’s <em>there</em>.</p><p>It’s <strong><em>real</em></strong>.</p><p>“You’ve been <em>drinking</em> …” Kenny half-sighs into the moist kiss, tasting the salt from Stan’s tears, too.</p><p>“S-So?” Stan grumbles, miserably, “She <strong><em>left</em></strong> me, D-Dude.”</p><p>Kenny strokes the side of Stan’s cheek and nuzzles his nose against Stan’s own, <strong>affectionately</strong>.</p><p>This <em>always</em> twists Kenny all up inside. It riles his stomach and <strong>wrenches</strong> his heart, because he feels so <em>strongly</em> for Stan—so fucking strongly—and he wonders if Stan feels <strong><em>anything</em></strong> at all.</p><p>Anything, except <strong><em>pleasure</em></strong> …</p><p>Kenny shifts, uncomfortably in his pants, feeling his <em>erection</em> sprouting through the crotch, raging hard, and needy as <strong>anything</strong> from just a little kissing.</p><p>“I know … I’m <em>sorry</em>,” he relents, wetting his lips, before kissing Stan, again.</p><p>This time, Stan’s, even <strong>more</strong> frenzied and worked up. The span of kisses, break away from Kenny’s lips, and traverse the length of his jaw, straight up to his earlobe. Causing heated whimpers to emerge as Kenny <strong>burns</strong> with pure ache for Stan.</p><p>After a moment of suckling the lobe, Stan, whispers huskily through his falling tears, “Kenny please, it <em>h-hurts</em> … I d-don’t want to <em>hurt</em> anymore …”</p><p><em>God damn</em> <strong><em>him</em></strong>, for using his feelings against him.</p><p>Stan knows how easy it is to break what little resolve Kenny has. Part of him must be aware that for Kenny, this has always been more than just <em>guy</em> <em>stuff</em> <em>between guys</em> …</p><p>This is <em>affection</em> that Kenny so rarely gets … its <strong><em>contact</em></strong> and release … it’s also degrading to some extent, because of the lengths he will stoop down to.</p><p>What he <em>allows</em>, Stan, to do with him …</p><p>“We <em>shouldn’t</em> …” Kenny groans, but he knew when he stepped foot in Stan’s house—when he picked up the <strong><em>phone</em></strong>, really—that <em>this</em> would occur.</p><p>It never fails when it’s just the two of them. <strong><em>Alone</em></strong>.</p><p>With their hormonal <em>needs</em> and <strong>feelings</strong>.</p><p>Stan goes for his <em>weakness</em>, when he deflects, staggering a hand down to palm the <em>mounting</em> tent in Kenny’s trousers. Grinding the foreskin up and down the sensitive <strong>poke</strong> of him under the fabric.</p><p>Kenny shudders and cries, leaking small drops of pre-slick into the soft <em>interior</em> of his boxers.</p><p>“D-Don’t make me <strong><em>beg</em></strong>, K-Kenny,” Stan pleads with a low husk to his tone. “You’re always so <strong>soft</strong> … like a <em>woman</em> under your clothes …” he sighs, and kisses further, <strong>shameful</strong> trails that flutter Kenny’s skin.</p><p>Kenny’s aware of his own <em>silky</em> smoothness. He’s told Stan about his <strong>constant</strong> deaths, and he isn’t <em>certain</em> whether Stan actually believes him or not, Stan also doesn’t <strong>disregard</strong> him like he once did.</p><p>“It’s a <em>new</em> body … <em>died again</em> …” Kenny offers in way of explanation, between hitches of air that emerge in stifles from his lungs.</p><p>Stan’s eyes ignite with a sudden <em>spark</em> of mischief, and Kenny doesn’t have time to register that Stan’s tears have <strong><em>finally</em></strong> dried, because Stan’s fingers are worming under the protection of his pants to grip the bare <em>protrusion</em> of his boyhood, full-on.</p><p>“So, that m-means you’re <em>sensitive</em>, then?” he teases, stroking up and down in quick motions with his wrist, sending Kenny into a frenzy of electric-like jolts.</p><p>“F-Fuck!” he grunts, and works his hips eagerly to match the provided friction. “Y-Yes!”</p><p>Stan works him <em>over</em> for a few more seconds, then finally relents, once Kenny’s leaked a <strong>puddle</strong> into his boxers, and is just on the <strong>cusp</strong> of release.</p><p>Dozily, Kenny, pants and sheds his parka, <em>overwhelmingly</em> hot with it on. Sweat has <strong>soaked</strong> into his shirt, pitting it out, so he hastily discards that, too, leaving him <em>vulnerable</em>—<strong><em>shirtless</em></strong>.</p><p>Stan sits up and sheds off his <strong>own</strong> layers, and Kenny decidedly follows suit, taking <em>off</em> his bottoms.</p><p>Once they’re both naked, Stan, wastes no time in climbing on top of him with this eagerness that has Kenny solidly turned on.</p><p>Stan’s hands are <em>everywhere</em> and <strong><em>nowhere</em></strong>, concurrently. Teasing along the ridge of Kenny’s spine, only to brush the fleshy <em>slant</em> of his side in the next instance.</p><p>Like an animal <strong>starved</strong> for touch, Kenny, seeks out every brush and tease that Stan offers up to him, pliantly spreading his thighs to <em>accommodate</em> Stan’s slim form between.</p><p>Kenny reaches up, rabidly tapering his hands across Stan’s <strong>broad</strong> shoulders and down his flat belly, finding purchase as he winds his fingers around Stan’s <em>throbbing</em> need, using his mouth to stifle the moans, Stan, emits on contact.</p><p>“K-Kenny … <em>Ken</em> ... F-Fuck!” Stan grunts out, through a low breath of air that has Kenny jittery with anticipation.</p><p>It’s been, too long, since Kenny’s been <em>underneath</em> his best friend. Too, <em>damn</em>, long.</p><p>It always takes a goddamned miracle (<em>it seems</em>) these days, for Stan to seek him out like this. It used to be <strong>more</strong> frequent when they were younger, but it has slowed down quite a bit.</p><p>Kenny thinks it might be because, Stan, knows that if Cartman got wind of the two of them, that that would be it. He’d <strong>never</strong> let them live it down. <strong><em>Ever</em></strong>.</p><p>Though, another more difficult part of Kenny’s psyche screams that Stan really is <strong><em>ashamed</em></strong> of this. Of course, he’d like to <em>believe</em> Stan wanted to spare them both the <em>intrinsic</em> humiliations, same as Kenny wanted to protect Karen from them.</p><p>It isn’t <em>love</em>, especially … it’s always practically <em>feral</em> and borne out of Stan’s <strong>explicit</strong> pain and suffering.</p><p>Kenny’s suffered, too, but the difference is that <em>he’s</em> never come to Stan because of it. Part of him believes that Stan might turn him <em>away</em>, if he did.</p><p>Stan’s drunk a lot of the time, alcohol is almost <em>always</em> present on his breath and has been for around three years (ever since Stan turned <em>ten</em>) or, so. Which, Kenny, feels he has absolutely no right to judge, and he doesn’t.</p><p>He wants to keep Stan safe, even from his <em>own</em> destructive whims, but finds that selective love and kisses—is the most <strong><em>effective</em></strong> way to do that.</p><p>In the dark, Kenny, has to map out the <em>bruises</em> and <strong>scars</strong> that <em>pepper</em> and make-up Stan’s balmy skin. He notes the light hisses and sighs that Stan relents whenever he happens across a particularly <em>sore</em> patch of flesh. With <em>tenderness</em>, he kisses those sore spots and Stan trembles, under his affections, the <strong>mound</strong> of his erection growing rock-solid, against Kenny’s <em>taut</em> belly.</p><p>“I’ll kick her <em>ass</em> … you should <strong>let</strong> me, Dude,” Kenny sighs with frustration, as he kisses an especially <strong><em>nasty</em></strong> bruise.</p><p>Stan sends him a <strong>tortured</strong> look, before he kisses the swell of Kenny’s pout, with <em>precision</em>.</p><p>“I don’t need a <strong>fucking</strong> lecture, Ken,” he mumbles, bitterly, and Kenny shivers, reactively.</p><p>Stan knows he hates that nickname, but he’s always used it, <strong><em>anyway</em></strong>. But its, <strong><em>Stan</em></strong> … so he lets him get away with it.</p><p>“Don’t think I don’t know, <strong><em>why</em></strong>, you let her beat on you, Stan. You’re <strong><em>not</em></strong> fooling me, you <em>never</em> were …” Kenny mumbles back, with a perceptive <em>squeeze</em> to Stan’s boyhood.</p><p>Physical pain is like a barrier to protect Stan from the emotional aspect of his pain. It’s obvious to Kenny that Stan suffers <em>greatly</em>, even when things are perfectly fine between him and Wendy.</p><p>“Fuck <em>you</em>, Kenny …” Stan whimpers, a few tears cascading down his face, and he slaps Kenny’s hand away from his erection, only to push Kenny’s legs up to spread him open in the next instant, preparing Kenny to take him.</p><p>Kenny didn’t mean it the way Stan <strong><em>took</em></strong> it. It wasn’t a way to make Stan feel <em>badly</em>, it was meant to draw out a little bit of that deep-seeded pain, not make it <strong><em>more</em></strong> potent …</p><p>When Stan lubes up his boyhood with slick and spit and <em>finally</em> pushes home into Kenny’s rear passage, it almost feels <strong>punishing</strong>.</p><p>Kenny cries out from the <em>force</em> of Stan’s initial thrust and the combined fact that Kenny’s <em>ass</em> hasn’t been occupied in months, meaning he’s no longer <em>used</em> to this sensation.</p><p>“S-Stan!” he groans, under the <strong>distinctly</strong> pleasurable surge of <em>pain</em> that blossoms through him, as Stan bottoms out.</p><p>Kenny’s groans are drowned out by Stan’s <em>consequential</em> moans of sheer ecstasy, and Kenny experiences his balls churning and cock throbbing between their bodies.</p><p>“F-Fuck!” Stan grunts and releases one of Kenny’s thighs in order to <strong>grope</strong> at his cheek down to his jaw and neck, “You’re <em>still</em> <strong><em>mine</em></strong>, aren’t you Ken?” he breathes hotly near his ear.</p><p>Shudders accompany, Kenny’s, now, flushed-pink cheeks as he takes in Stan’s possessive words.</p><p>He <em>should</em> feel ashamed—and he fucking <strong><em>does</em></strong>—but he also <em>adores</em> Stan. He loves him and <strong><em>wants</em></strong> him … and he’s the only boy that Kenny would ever let have him, this way.</p><p>Stan’s never been the <em>bottom</em>, not once. Kenny’s always been the <em>‘girl’ </em>he’s always been a stand-in for Wendy … even before there <strong><em>was</em></strong> a Wendy …</p><p>“I … ungh!” Kenny grunts, as Stan suddenly begins to move, thrusting his hips in timed beats, and flooding Kenny’s pink skin with kisses and love bites. Marking up his skin—claiming him with every <strong><em>tiny</em></strong> mark her leaves in his haste.</p><p>“S-Shit, Stan!” he bucks up his hips and <strong>desperately</strong> seeks out friction for his horny length.</p><p>Stan notices and grips him before Kenny can reach for his own erection, beginning to stroke and beat him off with <strong>vigorous</strong> passion—<em>with control</em>—and Kenny’s eyes rolls back as he allows himself to succumb to the weight of Stan’s mind-obliterating <em>dominance</em>.</p><p>“You’re so fucking <strong><em>tight</em></strong>,” Stan predicates, between kisses, ruts, and contented noises. “You’re <strong>always</strong> so damned tight like a <em>virgin</em> … and <strong>sensitive</strong> down here …” Stan gives a few hard tugs on Kenny’s boyhood, “… <em>like a</em> <strong><em>girl</em></strong> …” he teases.</p><p>Every time he dies, Kenny’s body, rejuvenates with a <em>fresh</em> one, and every time he takes <em>Stan</em> for the first time in a <strong>new</strong> body, it feels like his <strong><em>first</em></strong> time, all over again.</p><p>This body <strong><em>is</em></strong> virginal, <em>there</em>.</p><p>He’s never lived long enough in one body to truly become <strong><em>used</em></strong> to being stretched around Stan’s cock. It’s a brand-new experience, every <em>single</em> time …</p><p>“N-Not a <em>girl</em> …” Kenny pants out, nearing his breaking point, seconds from spilling over the edge.</p><p>“Fuck … you feel so <strong>damned</strong> godly, Dude …” Stan sighs out, completely ignoring his denial to be labeled female.</p><p>Kenny yearns to latch on to a <strong><em>portion</em></strong> of Stan’s soul for himself (the way Stan always seems to ravage and claim <strong><em>his</em></strong> soul every time) and lifts one of his hands to force Stan’s mouth <em>down</em> on his. Stealing a <strong><em>rough</em></strong> kiss from his lover.</p><p>Sucking, licking, and <em>biting</em> into the flesh he seeks there.</p><p>Stan fervently returns his roughness, slaking his tongue along Kenny’s <strong><em>teeth</em></strong> and driving his hips harder and <em>faster</em> into his rear. Pounding their tight skin together, until the slaps <strong>resounded</strong> throughout Stan’s bedroom.</p><p>The scent of their sex and arousal permeating the room, as their low sounds filled the air.</p><p>“Please … Don’t fucking go back to <strong><em>her</em></strong> …” Kenny lets the words slip without thinking about the consequences. He’s never come this close to outright <strong><em>admitting</em></strong> that his feelings are deeper than they should be.</p><p>This isn’t just two friends <em>seeking</em> comfort … at least, Kenny, has <strong><em>never</em></strong> seen it that way.</p><p>And he should <em>think</em> before he ruins things, but he’s <strong>not</strong> thinking—he’s just allowing Stan to take (<em>as usual</em>) and losing himself in the <strong>process</strong>.</p><p>Stan peers into his eyes with shock as their kiss breaks and suddenly, they’re <strong><em>both</em></strong> hitting their respective peaks, <em>congruently</em>.</p><p>“F-Fuck!” Stan fists the sheets with his spare hand and <strong>stills</strong> his hip motions, (though keeps his other hand <em>steadily</em> working Kenny’s prick determinedly) and Kenny feels the spill of <em>hot</em> <em>slick</em> in his ass.</p><p>The sweltering, <em>continuous</em> pump of heat, sends Kenny soaring over his own hard-sought edge. Gushes of seed spurt out onto his lower <strong>abdomen</strong> in hefty bursts, creating a messy pool of warmth.</p><p>Curling his toes, Kenny, has to blink through <em>blinding,</em> white lights, behind his eyelids.</p><p>Stan is a trembling heap of <strong>limbs</strong> and <em>parts</em> on top of him when it’s all over and Kenny comes back out of it, bit by bit.</p><p>Kenny’s mind is racing a mile a minute as he tries to think of a way to <strong>backtrack</strong> what he’s said, but Stan is the first one to speak, in the <em>fuzzy</em> aftermath.</p><p>“I <em>have</em> to, Ken,” he whispers, “I’m fucking <strong><em>lost</em></strong> without her, Dude …” he says it so casually that it almost <strong>blindsides</strong> him with bursts of turbulent anguish.</p><p>Stan’s fingers trace delicately through Kenny’s blonde strands of <strong>sweaty</strong> hair for a moment and he plants a nominal kiss to his forehead, before he lifts up and off of Kenny (they collectively <em>hiss</em> from the <strong>sensational</strong> pleasure and sensitivity from the deed left behind) in order to dangle his feet off the edge of the mattress. His back now facing Kenny.</p><p>Kenny’s stomach churns and he, too, sits up, using his discarded shirt to collect the semen left behind on his stomach, and makes the split-second decision to try to fight for this … fight for something <strong><em>more</em></strong> than … well <em>whatever</em> they’ve <strong>been</strong> up till now …</p><p>“She makes you, <strong>fucking</strong>, <em>miserable</em>, Stan,” he reasons, scooting forward to wrap a tentative arm around Stan’s middle, from behind. Not wanting to <em>lose</em> the little bit of comfort he’d been reveling in seconds ago.</p><p>Stan pushes his arm away, however. Reaching for his lighter and a blunt, striking up a light to the end.</p><p>“She’s the <em>best</em> damn thing that <strong>ever</strong> happened to me, Man. You fucking <strong><em>know</em></strong> that …” Stan allows his voice to trail off as he takes another hit, and blows out the hazy smoke.</p><p>Kenny fights back tears, trying to be strong because this isn’t <strong>about</strong> him. Nothing is ever, <strong><em>really</em></strong><em>,</em> about him …</p><p><em>Karen’s</em> happiness comes first, then <strong><em>Stan’s</em></strong>. Everyone’s happiness has <strong>always</strong> come well above his <em>own</em>. And he’s just learned to fucking accept it, despite how deeply it <em>scars</em> and <strong>hurts</strong> …</p><p>“She’s not, though …” Kenny decisively argues back, wanting to try a <em>little</em> harder before he gives up.</p><p>However, his persistence only seems to <strong>fan</strong> the anger in, Stan, because he takes <em>another</em> hit, and shoots a glare over his shoulder at Kenny.</p><p>“Fuck <em>you</em>, Kenny! What the fuck would <strong><em>you</em></strong> know about happiness? You never fuck <em>any</em> chick longer than a <em>night!” </em>Stan snaps, “God forbid you might fucking get <strong>attached</strong>! And now, what? You want <em>me</em> to give up on <strong>my</strong> girl, because you … <em>what</em>, exactly? You fucking want <em>me</em> to be with <strong><em>you</em></strong><em>?”</em> Stan laughs, almost like it’s a <strong>joke</strong> …</p><p>And <em>maybe</em> it is … maybe <strong><em>he</em></strong> is …</p><p>Kenny knows that Stan has a particular proclivity for being <strong>cynical</strong>, but he’s never, before, used that personality flaw to crush, Kenny, quite like he is right <em>here</em> in this moment.</p><p>What <strong>does</strong> Kenny have to offer, Stan? In reality?</p><p>A supple, pliant … girl-like body? And what <em>else</em> …</p><p>Kenny feels the sudden streak of worthlessness flood through him and take up residence in his heart.</p><p>“F-Fuck <strong><em>you</em></strong>, Stan …” Kenny says, trying to wound Stan in the same way, but its half-hearted at <strong>best</strong>.</p><p>What <strong><em>does</em></strong> he know about love? His unhealthy attachment to Karen is the <strong>only</strong> source of love he’s <em>ever</em> really known, and that’s shattered, <em>somewhat</em>, thanks to him.</p><p>Not to mention that <strong><em>particular</em></strong> love is fucked-up, anyway. It was the type of love that couldn’t <em>leave</em> the dark shadows of his bedroom … sort of like what he had with Stan.</p><p><em>God damn</em>. His entire fucking life is one <strong>pathetic</strong> mistake after another.</p><p>Kenny’s barely able to bite <em>back</em> his tears, because he realizes that he opened himself up to the possibility of Stan ripping out his heart—<em>and he has</em>—unrepentantly.</p><p>“That’s it, isn’t it?” Stan presses, appearing to take in the sight of him, so pathetic and trembling, tangled in Stan’s bedsheets. “You fucking <em>expect</em> me to be with you?!”</p><p>He feels so small and stupid for even <em>suggesting</em> that Stan leave Wendy in the dust <strong>for</strong> good. It was such a <em>stupid</em> fucking thing to say. And even <strong>stupider</strong> to fracture the tightly bound line between what they talk about and what they don’t <strong><em>ever</em></strong> talk about …</p><p>“I … I’ve been <em>here</em> for you,” Kenny’s voice is meek, but he has nothing else to <strong>lose</strong> by arguing. Just what’s <em>left</em> of his pride. “Would <em>Kyle</em> let you fuck him? Call him a w-woman? <strong><em>Degrade</em></strong><em> him?</em> Would <em>Cartman?”</em> Kenny forces his eyes to meet Stan’s calculating ones until Stan turns his head away with a huff of air, taking another <em>shaky</em> <strong>hit</strong> from his joint.</p><p>When Stan doesn’t answer Kenny answers for him. “<em>No</em>. They <strong><em>won’t</em></strong> … just <strong><em>me</em></strong><em>!</em> <em>I’ve</em> dried your tears and made the <em>hurt</em> go away when no one else will! <strong><em>Me</em></strong><em>!</em> Not even <strong><em>Wendy</em></strong> does that! <em>Does she?” </em></p><p>Stan’s back goes rigid and he begins to shake, but still doesn’t <em>say</em> anything.</p><p>“Does she even know about the <em>cuts?</em> The <strong>beatings</strong>? Does she even, <em>fucking</em>, <strong><em>care</em></strong><em>?”</em> Kenny continues to push, gaining in momentum as he goes.</p><p> “What she <em>knows</em> and <strong><em>doesn’t</em></strong> isn’t <strong>your</strong>, fucking, business, Kenny!” Stan rages, now completely red in the face.</p><p>Much to his chagrin, tears do begin to roll down Kenny’s cheeks, as the reality of Stan’s full-on <em>rejection</em> begins to truly hit home and sink in, and he wipes at them, <em>furiously</em>.</p><p><em>“Why?</em> Because <em>you</em> think like Cartman does? You think I’m just <em>‘White Trash’</em> so I don’t matter?”</p><p>“Don’t lump me in with that <em>narcissistic</em>, <strong><em>fucking</em></strong> <em>asshole!</em> I’m <strong><em>nothing</em></strong> like <em>him!”</em> Stan bellows, the pure rage showing in his eyes.</p><p>Kenny feels so bare and vulnerable under his friend’s eyes, all of the sudden. It’s a <strong><em>disgusting</em></strong> feeling and he doesn’t like it, <em>at</em> <strong><em>all</em></strong>.</p><p>“You just said you don’t think I’m even fucking <strong><em>capable</em></strong> of <em>love!</em> Is that not something <strong><em>Cartman</em></strong> would fucking say?!”</p><p>“That’s <em>not</em> what I said! I said you won’t <strong>let</strong> yourself <strong><em>fall</em></strong> in love, there’s a <em>difference!”</em> he argues back.</p><p>“Well, I fucking love <em>you</em>, Stan! So, <strong><em>fucking</em></strong>, there! <em>Okay?”</em> Kenny blurts out without even thinking about it. It’s just <em>out there</em>—and he’s <strong>said</strong> it …</p><p>It <em>is</em> love—a <strong><em>complex</em></strong> love, at that.</p><p>But its also a tundra of all-encompassing hurt and toil, too. Because, he recognizes the refracted self-disgust in Stan’s eyes whenever they finish their tousles between the sheets.</p><p>Kenny can still remember back to the first time that they ever did this. And just like with, Karen, it was his idea; his way of mending broken emotions.</p><p>They’d been five at the time and Kenny had <em>already</em> acquired the knowledge of self-pleasuring. He blames his fucked-up parents for being so damned <em>‘White Trash’ </em>all the time, and fucking each other even when their kids could walk right in on it.</p><p>Curiosity had taken root and Kenny had slid his hands under his clothes, finding that the pleasure it provided was a <em>mind-bending</em> way of distracting him from his <strong>shitty</strong> homelife.</p><p>So, that first time, when Stan had gathered up the courage to <em>call</em> him on the phone (<em>in tears</em>) because of what Shelly had done to him—Kenny had <strong>been</strong> there, offering to spend the night at Stan’s.</p><p>He’d kissed the <em>bruises</em> and cuts, promised he’d never tell another soul (<em>especially Cartman</em>) and that night when they’d cuddled together in Stan’s bed, he’d used his own distraction of intimate pleasure, to <strong>console</strong> Stan’s stinging pain.</p><p>And over time, it led to this … this confusion and love that Kenny now feels toward Stan.</p><p>It’s just become <em>casual</em>, normal. Kenny doesn’t know how to stop … and he doesn’t <strong>especially</strong> want to.</p><p>Stan’s expression <em>morphs</em> from anger to shock, then into something unreadable.</p><p>“This isn’t <strong><em>love</em></strong>, Kenny! This was <strong>never</strong>, fucking, love, okay?!” Stan swears back. “This is just <em>shit</em> between <strong><em>guys</em></strong><em>!</em> It’s not … it’s not some <em>epic</em> love story … it’s just <strong>comfort</strong>, God-damn-it!”</p><p>Stan’s off the bed and fishing around in his top dresser drawer in <em>seconds</em>. And Kenny watches, dumbfounded, as Stan eventually pulls out a bottle of vodka, unscrews the cap and takes a little <em>swig</em>, squeezing his eyes, before putting it back <strong>away</strong>.</p><p>“It’s <strong><em>more</em></strong> than that, it’s been more than that for a <em>long</em> fucking time, now, Stan!” Kenny raises his voice, and crosses the room, forcing Stan to look him in the eyes, by clutching tight to his cheeks.</p><p>Stan tears away and refuses to look at him, bitterly.</p><p>“It’s <em>not</em>, Dude. You’re just <em>confused</em>. Like I said, you’ve never been with anyone else long enough to <strong>understand</strong> love like I do,” Stan muttered, lowering his tone.</p><p>Kenny wants to scream that he <strong><em>is</em></strong> in love. That he knows more than just <strong>this</strong> twisted, fucked-up, kind of temperamental love … but he doesn’t <strong><em>dare</em></strong>.</p><p>If he tells <em>Stan</em> about <strong><em>Karen</em></strong> then he’ll never look at him the same way.</p><p>Karen may be aware of Stan, <em>somehow</em>, but Stan can <strong>never</strong> be aware of <strong><em>her</em></strong>.</p><p>Between the drugs, the booze, the denial, and the continuous deaths, Kenny is all kinds of fucked-up, right now.</p><p>“<em>Seven</em> <em>years</em>, Stan!” Kenny defends, “Seven <em>fucking</em> years, we’ve been doing this!”</p><p>Stan proceeds to persuade his clothes onto his frame, picking them up, one by one, off the floor where they were <em>hastily</em> discarded during intercourse.</p><p>“So? It doesn’t <strong><em>mean</em></strong> anything, Kenny. Do I have to spell it <em>out</em> for you?” Stan turns back to face him with his clothes back in place, and bloodshot eyes, wide.</p><p>Kenny, (feeling incredibly <em>vulnerable</em> in his nudity) begins to replace his own clothes, but leaves his red-parka off, decidedly.</p><p>“I guess, so, Stan. <em>Spell it out</em>,” Kenny demands, his blue-eyes still leaking tears, that he has to keep swiping away every now and again, avidly.</p><p>“Fine, Dude, I’ll fucking <em>spell</em> <em>it out!”</em> Stan relents. “You’re <strong><em>not</em></strong> my boyfriend! I thought it was <strong><em>fucking</em></strong> obvious, Man, but I guess not!” Stan huffily takes a drag from his joint, releasing the air in little puffs. “We’re <em>just</em> best friends. That’s all. Sometimes you make shit better for me, but that’s all it is. That’s all it—<strong><em>this</em></strong>—can <strong><em>ever</em></strong> be. We <em>can’t</em> hold hands in the <strong>fucking</strong> hallway, and we <em>can’t</em> be public lovers. I am in <em>love</em> with Wendy. <strong><em>Just</em></strong> Wendy!” Stan cements.</p><p>Kenny feels his heart snap like a twig, because it’s <strong><em>all</em></strong> over.</p><p>He’s pushed this issue as far as he can push it, and this is precisely what he <em>knew</em> would happen, if he did.</p><p>Stan hasn’t looked him in the eye while saying any of it, but Kenny’s heart and pride are both obliterated, just the same.</p><p>Kenny wipes his tears, around sniffles and loses his nerve, altogether. It’s humiliating to be put in his place, like this—to be told his emotions aren’t valid … aren’t <strong><em>proper</em></strong>.</p><p>He’s emotionally and physically <em>ravaged</em>. It hurts with every step he takes. He can still feel the bulk of Stan inside of him, taking him, using him … and <strong>discarding</strong> him.</p><p><em>He’s</em> <strong><em>trash</em></strong>.</p><p>Kenny’s known that forever, but he’s never been able to <em>accept</em> it more than he does, right now, in this moment.</p><p>“F-Fine,” Kenny breathes out, dismally. Collecting his parka off the floor, running his fingers through his strands of hair. “If that’s how it <em>is</em>, that’s <em>how</em> it is …” he accepts in lackluster defeat.</p><p>Stan softens a bit, when he realizes Kenny is no longer pressing this particular issue any further.</p><p>“I’m <em>not</em> kicking you out, Kenny,” Stan mentions, promptly settling into the cushiony center of his mattress. “You can lay down, we can <strong><em>cuddle</em></strong> for a bit, if you want. I know how you like to be <em>held</em> after …”</p><p>Kenny feels his stomach churn like butter from cream. It’s highly <em>uncomfortable</em> and prickles of <strong>self-disgust</strong> find their way up Kenny’s spine.</p><p>He realizes that he’s becoming <em>densely</em> crushed under the weight of everyone else’s <strong><em>problems</em></strong>. That he truly has no one he can turn to and love <strong><em>properly</em></strong> in the daylight.</p><p>Every impractical love he has, is sheltered under the cover of darkness. It’s <em>corrupt</em> and <strong><em>burning</em></strong> his soul alive. It’s <em>almost</em>, like a fucking <strong>curse</strong> … like <strong><em>he’s</em></strong> a damned curse.</p><p>Either, he can <em>recklessly</em> decimate his own sister, or he can continue to play <em>‘girl’</em> for Stan.</p><p>Both options are <strong><em>shit</em></strong>.</p><p>Both options drive feelings of deep upset and worthlessness down into his <strong>melted</strong> core.</p><p>He yearns for a <strong><em>third</em></strong> option …</p><p>Because <strong><em>this</em></strong>, depravity, is ripping his apart.</p><p>“It’s best if I just <em>go</em> … you got what <strong>you</strong> needed, that’s all that matters, <em>right, Stan?”</em> Kenny doesn’t mean to say it like <em>that</em>. He knows that he doesn’t <strong>deserve</strong> to have happiness—<em>he <strong>never</strong> has</em>—but it just hurts so damned much, right now, that it feels <em>necessary</em> to say it.</p><p>Plausible shock makes its way onto Stan’s face, along with apparent traces of <strong><em>guilt</em></strong>. Kenny can see it <em>written</em> there, a subtle nuance just <strong>underneath</strong> the surface.</p><p>But Kenny feels <em>really</em> gross. Too gross to curl up in Stan’s arms, like a <em>pathetic</em>, needy, little girl would.</p><p>Stan is <em>right</em>, Kenny, doesn’t <em>deserve</em> the comfort <strong><em>he</em></strong> gains from this—he doesn’t deserve that simple act, that tricks him into <strong><em>believing</em></strong> they’re in love.</p><p>Because this <strong><em>isn’t</em></strong> love. It’s just whatever <em>twisted</em> guy-shit, Stan, <strong>believes</strong> it is …</p><p>And Kenny doesn’t want to <strong><em>feel</em></strong> anymore, today. He wants to <em>harden</em> his heart—he wants to steal away the <em>air</em> he breathes.</p><p>Kenny’s ass is sore, his knee tweaks as he stands with it locked for a few seconds too long, and his neck <em>cricks</em> as his shoulder gives a twinge of pain.</p><p>This body is <strong><em>tainted</em></strong> … Stan’s words feel like <strong>poison</strong> to these bones …</p><p><em>“Kenny—”</em> Stan tries to argue, probably to try to <em>mend</em> what he’s broken, but Kenny doesn’t allow him the chance.</p><p>Kenny wipes a few tears and cuts him off, “It’s <strong><em>whatever</em></strong>, Stan. You can’t <em>hurt</em> me … I can’t <strong><em>love</em></strong>, remember?”</p><p>He doesn’t wait to see what Stan <em>might</em> say, before he’s already out of his room. Tugging on his parka, he shoves his face down into the fabric and fights back <strong>relentless</strong> tears, as he hurries down the stairs and out the front door, ignoring Stan’s repeated calls of his name, as he <em>goes</em>.</p><p>Kenny tries to <strong>clear</strong> his head as he walks the distance back to the pond, with the ducks, but his mind is still screaming at him. Screaming for him to <em>turn back.</em></p><p>Somewhere in the <em>shitty</em> spots of his mind, he longs to head back and find some, <strong><em>perverse,</em></strong> comfort in Stan’s embrace. But the broken, tainted-ness of his body supersedes <strong><em>everything</em></strong>.</p><p>This is what rock-bottom is like.</p><p>Realizing that one of the loves in your life, <em>doesn’t</em> love you back—and the one that <strong>does</strong> love you back, should <strong><em>never</em></strong> have loved you to begin with.</p><p>The pain is encroaching on being <em>too</em> <em>much</em> for his mind to handle and the numbness he craves just won’t come.</p><p>Despite the cold air outside, he’s not cold <strong><em>enough</em></strong>.</p><p>He’s expected to console <em>everyone</em>, but where is <strong><em>his</em></strong> sympathy? Who consoles <em>him?</em> Builds <strong><em>him</em></strong> up?</p><p>Watching with morosely, lifeless eyes, Kenny, follows the ducks in their trails, swimming back and forth with little paddles of their feet.</p><p>The frigid cold water, should be <strong><em>death</em></strong>—but it’s not for <em>them</em>—and Kenny finds jealousy in their ability to <strong>not</strong> die, like he knows, he now must.</p><p>It is the only way for him to not <em>feel</em> this way, anymore.</p><p>To not feel <strong>used</strong> and <em>sickly <strong>tainted</strong></em>—spoiled, by Stan’s inhumane treatment of this heart—<strong><em>this</em></strong> <em>body</em>.</p><p>Vibrations from his phone buzz in his pocket and he doesn’t have to look at it to <strong><em>know</em></strong> it’s Stan, attempting to reach him.</p><p>With a collective sigh, Kenny, steps into the depths of the water, ignoring the annoyed quacks from the ducks that he’s <em>disturbing</em>, as he does.</p><p>Immediately, the cold, familiar stabs of anguish steal <em>throughout</em> his body, spreading everywhere they can. Like the sharpened blade of a knife, Kenny, experiences the <em>unbearable</em> cold from his toes to his torso, as he wades in deeper and deeper, until his entire body, straight up to his chin is fully immersed.</p><p>His phone <em>fails</em> and the vibrations cease, but he knows it will reappear with his body, soon.</p><p>The shivers are compulsive and he loses track of time as he experiences the <strong><em>numbness</em></strong> spreading everywhere that felt cold seconds ago, and soon his mind begins to drift, as he tingles from his effectively <strong><em>deadening</em></strong> nerves.</p><p>As he closes his eyes and the <em>world</em> fades to black—and then <strong>blinding</strong> light—he wishes against hope, that <em>this</em> time, he won’t reawaken, again.</p><p>And he sees, <em>Karen’s,</em> face—<strong>always</strong> her face …</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <i> I love hearing from you! Let me know what you think! Leave a comment below! :] </i>
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        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Part two; separations & breakages.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <hr/>
  <p>
    <em>Everything I love,</em>
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  <p>
    <em>Became everything I’ve lost.</em>
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  <em>
    <strong>Part two; separations &amp; breakages.</strong>
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<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>iii. stolen flesh &amp; sunken hearts.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Somewhere, trapped, between the chill of <strong>death</strong> and the sobering cusp that accompanies being <em>alive</em>, Kenny, opens his eyes.</p><p>Just a <em>crack.</em></p><p>He opens them to the damaging vibrance of <strong>senseless</strong> tears, and familiar hiccups, from the huddled <strong>weight</strong> on his lap.</p><p>Kenny doesn’t really have to gaze upon the tender creature to know <strong>who</strong> she is—or <strong><em>why</em></strong> she’s here—he already knows the answer to <strong><em>both</em></strong>.</p><p>Shifting a bit, he drapes his arms around her limber torso, allowing his mind to register that he does, <em>in fact</em>, possess the ability of movement, while simultaneously checking for any lingering damage to this <strong><em>new</em></strong> body from his <em>latest</em> death.</p><p>This time, it is just as he <em>expects</em> it to be—<em>he’s partially</em> <strong><em>numb</em></strong>.</p><p>There is <em>nerve</em> <em>damage</em>, left over from his freezing to death, and the effect happens to be that at least half of his body has significantly <em>less</em> sensation than it typically does.</p><p>Even his <em>fingers</em> are chilled to the touch and the best way he can describe it, is that it feels like he’s gripping on to Karen through a <strong>layer</strong> of plastic-wrap.</p><p><em>“K-Kenny!”</em> Karen sobs into the precipice of his neck, <em>disbelief</em> sounding in her tone of voice.</p><p>As she draws back, Kenny’s, eyes slowly start to adjust to the <em>dark</em> in his room, and his heart practically <em>stops, </em><strong>altogether</strong><em>,</em> in his chest, as he tries to register what the <strong>fuck</strong> he’s seeing.</p><p>Karen’s, once, <em>beautiful</em> mussy brown hair, has been dyed <strong><em>ebony black</em></strong>. There’s caked make-up on her face, with dark-rimmed eyeliner accentuating her sapphire eyes, and dark-red lipstick coating her pout. Worst of all, is the ring lip piercing on the right side of her mouth, and the tiny stud nose piercing on her left side.</p><p>Her clothes, too, have altered <em>significantly</em>. They are black and he realizes she’s actually donning fishnets under her skirt! Ordinarily, that would turn him on, but he is so <strong>devastated</strong> with what he currently sees, that he doesn’t quite know what to <em>make</em> of it.</p><p>She has his red-parka on, over it all, and it’s the <strong><em>only</em></strong> thing that is quite out of place with this <em>new</em> look.</p><p>Karen, always wears his red-parka when she waits for him to wake up—that appears to be the <em>only</em> thing that <strong>hasn’t</strong> changed …</p><p>“What the <em>fuck?”</em> Kenny reaches up and smears some of her lipstick onto his thumb in disbelief, bumping against her <em>authentic</em> piercing, as he does. “What <strong><em>is</em></strong> this shit, Karen? What the fuck <em>happened</em> to you?” without even really meaning to, he’s using his <em>‘Mysterion’</em> voice on her, trying to sound like he means, <em>fucking,</em> <strong><em>business</em></strong>.</p><p>And in actuality—<em>he</em> <strong><em>does</em></strong>.</p><p>She’s barely wearing <strong><em>anything</em></strong>—this outfit is <strong>way</strong> too skimpy on her.</p><p>Karen’s eyes falter and she drags her teeth on her bottom lip, bumping the piercing for a moment, then seems to gather her courage and responds with a <em>foreboding</em> accent of her own.</p><p>“I do what I <strong>have</strong> to,” she insists, with a little shrug of her shoulders. “You don’t <em>get</em> to decide <em>how</em> I fucking dress,” she says it without the harsh emphasis he would expect such <strong>disrespectful</strong> words to carry, which calls into question the <em>sincerity</em> of them.</p><p>He’s only been awake less than <em>two minutes</em> and this isn’t the sister he <strong><em>remembers</em></strong> <em>from … </em></p><p>He realizes he has no <em>idea</em> how long it’s actually been since he <strong>waltzed</strong> into the duck pond and <strong><em>froze</em></strong> to death …</p><p>“What <em>are</em> you fucking talking about, Kare? How <strong><em>long</em></strong> have I been gone?” he feels he needs to ask, because he doesn’t understand when she decided to change her outwardly appearance <strong><em>so</em></strong> drastically … He just laid eyes on her <strong><em>Friday</em></strong> (the day <strong><em>before</em></strong> he froze himself) and she didn’t look like <strong><em>this!</em></strong></p><p>“You’ve been gone a <strong><em>month</em></strong>, Kenny …” she softens her tone and whisks a few of <strong>his</strong> tears away, <em>resolutely</em>.</p><p>His head feels like it may just <em>explode</em> …</p><p><em>“What?!</em> A <strong><em>month</em></strong><em>?!”</em> he half-shouts and panics, blinking a few times as his hands begin their <strong>usual</strong> trembling, just before he’s about to be overcome by a full-blown <em>anxiety</em> attack.</p><p>It’s been almost <em>three years</em> since he last died for such a long <strong>stretch</strong> of time. The last he was gone this long, was the time that he died of <em>muscular</em> <em>dystrophy</em>. That time he was gone for close to <em>four months</em>. And his reborn body had been the least <strong>amicable</strong> of any, <em>body</em> he’s <em>ever</em> returned in.</p><p>Back then, Karen’s, wellbeing hadn’t <em>strictly</em> been reliant on him. His parents had still been under <em>Mysterion’s</em> spell and somewhat afraid of retaliation if they <strong>didn’t</strong> do as he commanded them to.</p><p>Their father’s <em>temperament</em> has only worsened since then and as Karen has aged, her schoolmates, <em>too</em>, have only worsened when it comes to <strong>tormenting</strong> her. Leaving her for such a long time, had not been his most <em>recent</em> intention.</p><p>He’d simply wanted to <em>refresh</em> his body—<em>to start</em> <strong><em>over</em></strong>—and return with a layer of <strong>steel</strong> around this <em>new</em> heart. The numb, damaged nerves all across his skin were meant to help with that goal, but something must have gone <strong><em>horrifically</em></strong> wrong.</p><p>“Yes, a <strong><em>month</em></strong>,” she reiterates and shifts on his lap.</p><p>Karen’s eyes reflect her <em>immense</em> pain. Something must have happened to cause this <strong>transformation</strong> of hers—and he wasn’t <em>here</em> to <em>protect</em> her from it.</p><p>“Fuck … I didn’t mean to leave for <em>so</em> long, Kare-Bear.” Softening, Kenny, pulls her in closer, <em>sympathy</em> shimmering in his eyes.</p><p>Karen’s back stiffens when he makes contact with her hips and he notes her slight <em>cringe</em> when he leans toward her, to plant a kiss to her cheek.</p><p>“They found you at the pond,” Karen pipes up, ignoring his apology. “You <em>killed</em> <strong><em>yourself</em></strong> … <em>Why?”</em> Her eyes fill with this hurt that has his stomach <strong>turning</strong>. “You promised me you were going to <em>try</em> to stay alive, that time … So, <em>why</em> did you do it?”</p><p>The reminder of Stan and all the fucked-up shit that occurred that day, comes <strong>roaring</strong> back to him like a damned <em>pinprick</em>. He doesn’t want to explain to her what <em>happened</em>. Why he felt the resolute <strong>need</strong> to freeze himself to death …</p><p>“I <em>needed</em> a fresh start, okay, Kare? I didn’t think it would make it so I was gone for a whole <strong><em>month</em></strong> … I’m <em>so,</em> fucking, sorry,” he breathes out.</p><p>“Y-You’re supposed to be <em>here</em>. You <strong><em>promised</em></strong> … and I <strong>waited</strong> for you … I’ve waited for <em>you</em> in your <strong>bed</strong> every night.”</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em> …” he mutters, feeling like shit.</p><p>Now that he thinks about it, his time in heaven <em>did</em> seem rather <strong><em>lengthy</em></strong> this time around. Every time he returns his memories of heaven and hell are always <em>fuzzy</em> and <strong>blur</strong> together. It’s like only a small little <em>freckle</em> of his consciousness drifts back to Earth afterward.</p><p>Everything is so much more <strong><em>vibrant</em></strong> in the afterlife.</p><p>“What did you need a fresh start <em>from?</em> I thought everything was <strong>fine</strong>, between us … I thought we were <em>okay</em>.”</p><p>“It wasn’t <strong><em>you</em></strong>, Kare. I just … I was dealing with some fucked-up, <strong>shit</strong>, okay? This wasn’t <em>anything</em> to do with you. I … I thought I would come back quickly, like I <strong><em>always</em></strong> do …”</p><p>She swallows thickly in her throat and he takes in her every tremble and whimper of discontent.</p><p>“<em>Whatever</em>,” she mutters under her breath. “You told me enough times that this <strong><em>has</em></strong> to stop. That … that we shouldn’t <strong><em>be</em></strong> together, Kenny, and I didn’t <strong>listen</strong> to you.”</p><p>Kenny’s heart quivers in his chest and he furrows his eyebrows. Somewhat confused by her sudden alter in attitude. “What are you <em>saying</em>, Kare?” he asks her carefully, <em>disconcertedly</em>.</p><p>Wiggling away from his hold she repositions herself a few inches <em>away</em> from him, so that she’s no longer a warm presence on his lap.</p><p>Kenny shifts, too, allowing his slightly <em>numb</em> legs to tuck <em>under</em> him, so that he can scoot in closer to her, not yet <em>prepared</em> to have her so far away and looking at him with those sad, <strong><em>betrayed</em></strong> eyes.</p><p>“I’m saying that you’re fucking <em>right</em>, Kenny. You were <strong><em>always</em></strong> right. I don’t <em>belong</em> with you. And <em>you</em> don’t belong with <strong>me</strong> … Happiness isn’t in the <em>cards</em> for people like us. I get it now. Nothing will <strong>ever</strong> get any better. It’s not <strong><em>meant</em></strong> to,” she reasons.</p><p>He experiences the weight of the world crushing down on him, all at once.</p><p>As long as he’s <em>known</em> Karen, she’s never spoken this way to him before. She’s always been this beacon of optimism—<em>of hope</em>—and that <em>light</em> was never supposed to flicker out and <strong><em>die</em></strong> in her. That light was the one constant that shone <em>unendingly</em>. The one thing he’s gone out of his way to <strong><em>protect</em></strong> in her …</p><p>Her words <em>stun</em> him and stir up his insides with steely regret and <strong><em>bitter</em></strong> resentment toward whomever fucking <em>hurt</em> her.</p><p>Because this <strong><em>isn’t</em></strong> her—she’s <strong><em>never</em></strong> been like this.</p><p>“Kare-Bear, that <em>isn’t</em> true. I never meant it like <em>that</em> …” he inches closer and goes to reach for her, again, but she <em>shoves</em> his hand away, tears sheltering down her cheek.</p><p>“It <em>is</em>, true, Kenny. This world is, too, fucked-up and I’m <strong><em>not</em></strong> your Juliet … I make everything <strong><em>harder</em></strong> for you. I <em>know</em> that.”</p><p>Closing his eyes, Kenny, takes in a deep breath and tries to <strong>taper</strong> his raging emotions. He doesn’t understand what exactly went on in the time that he was away, but he’s <em>determined</em> to get to the bottom of it, all the same.</p><p>“What <em>changed</em> your mind? <em>Who</em> made you like this, Kare?” he blurts out, studying her face for a reaction.</p><p>He sees the tiniest of reactions in her eyes, and for a flicker of an instant, she actually appears <em>alarmed</em>. Just as quickly, that spark is gone and her eyes return to their <strong>downcast</strong> state.</p><p>“I just <em>grew up</em>, Kenny. There <strong><em>are</em></strong> no <em>‘Guardian Angels’ </em>in the <strong>real</strong> world. Things <em>are</em> the way they are, and it’s easier not to <strong>pretend</strong> they’re any different …”</p><p>Riddled with bewilderment, Kenny, fights back tears as he watches his sister rise from his bed, shed off his red-parka and discard it in front of him. Only to <em>traipse</em> out of his room in the next second, closing the door behind her with a <strong>click</strong>.</p><p> He stares at his parka, trying to discern what the actual, <strong><em>fuck</em></strong>, just happened.</p><p>Over the years, he’d worked his <strong>ass</strong> off to make damn fucking sure that Karen’s innocence <em>stayed</em> in place for as long as possible. Of course, she’d lost her <strong><em>sexual</em></strong> innocence (<em>thanks to him</em>) but her childhood optimism had stayed where it <strong>belonged</strong>.</p><p>Now, in the span of a single <strong><em>month</em></strong>, every bit of that light he fought to keep <em>burning</em> in her, had somehow been <strong>snuffed</strong> out.</p><p>And God <strong><em>help</em></strong> the <em>mother-fucker</em> that was <strong><em>behind</em></strong> it.</p><p>He reaches for his red-parka and <em>yanks</em> it on.</p><p>Reaching into his drawer he pulls out his cocaine. Spreading a line out on top of his dresser he <em>snorts</em> it, ignoring the burn that accompanies the <strong>consumption</strong>.</p><p>Lighting a joint in the next second, he leans back against his headboard, contemplating what his first move will be.</p><p> He mulls over what might have happened to Karen while he was absent. The, <em>first</em>, piece of <strong><em>shit</em></strong> that comes to mind is his father. That bastard terrorizes <strong>everyone</strong> in this house and Kenny can only envision the <em>atrocities</em> he’s likely imposed without Kenny around to <em>straighten</em> him out.</p><p>After a minute of <em>thinking</em> it over, he comes to the conclusion, it’s time to bring out <em>Mysterion</em>.</p><p>If Karen won’t <strong>confide</strong> in him, he’ll simply have to figure it out on his <em>own</em>.</p><p>Fishing into his parka’s pocket, he tugs out his phone, checking the <em>time</em>. It’s almost <em>midnight</em>. Surely, his shitty-ass parents are still awake. Though, they’ve probably moved their stupid antics to the <em>bedroom</em> by now.</p><p>If he’s going to get some answers, now is the time to do so.</p><p>Just as he’s about to move off the bed and change, he notices a slew of <em>‘voicemails’ </em>come through.</p><p>When he slides to see who left them, it’s just as he suspects. They’re <strong>all</strong> from <strong><em>Stan</em></strong>.</p><p>After a moment of contemplation, he finally clicks on one and brings the phone up to his ear.</p><p>
  <em>“Hey, Dude … it’s me … Yeah um … I’m sorry that I said all that shit to you … um … It wasn’t fucking cool, Man, and I know it was such an asshole move … um … just come back, Kenny. I feel really shitty about it. You do matter, okay? I’m sorry …”</em>
</p><p>With a hesitant sniffle, Kenny, taps on another message.</p><p><em>Incoherent sobs muffle into the speaker and finally, Stan, begins to speak in whispers, “I’m s-sorry, K-Kenny … I’m s-so fucking s-sorry, M-Man … I didn’t think y-you would … you w-w-would …” further muffled sounds come through, accompanied by sobs, “… I would have gone after y-you … K-Kenny … Y-You tell me all the t-time that you come b-back … That I don’t e-even know you’re g-gone … but I know you’re g-gone, K-Kenny … i-it’s been two w-weeks … I w-watched them l-lower your casket into the g-ground … you p-promised you couldn’t d-die … K-Kenny …”</em> <em>more muffled noises come through, before Stan’s voice breaks and the line goes dead</em>.</p><p>Kenny reflexively wipes away a few tears, trying to regather his thoughts. He wonders, briefly, if Stan <em>will</em> remember his death this time. <em>Will</em> <strong><em>everyone</em></strong><em>?</em></p><p>Or did this message somehow manage to make it through the <em>altered</em> timeline to somehow find its <strong><em>way</em></strong> to him?</p><p>There’s no way of knowing and he <em>has</em> to be strong, because calling Stan right now would just fuck him up, <strong><em>more</em></strong>.</p><p>His fist priority has to be, Karen, not-<strong><em>fucking</em></strong>-Stan …</p><p>Stan made his side <em>very</em> clear the last time they spoke and Kenny isn’t ready to allow himself to be sucked back into that needy <strong>fucking</strong> mess, again. At least … not just <strong><em>yet</em></strong>.</p><p>He <em>discards</em> his phone on his nightstand, puts out his joint, and hops out of bed. Changing record-quick into his <em>Mysterion</em> costume, he climbs out of his window and <strong>sneaks</strong> across the grass to his parents’ room.</p><p>Their light is switched off, leaving only the dim light from their bedroom television, glaring.</p><p>For once, they don’t <strong>appear</strong> to be locked in an argument, but are nestled closely together on their <em>mattress</em>, sharing a joint between them.</p><p>With a deep breath, he leaps up on the windowsill, slides the window up and <em>climbs</em> inside.</p><p>Both his parents startle, and turn to see him, <em>standing there</em>—trying to appear braver than he feels <em>whenever</em> he does this.</p><p>“Fuck! It’s that little <strong><em>shit</em></strong>, again!” his father grunts, “What the <strong><em>fuck</em></strong> do you want?”</p><p>There is such a burning rage in Kenny, that he has to steel himself in order to keep from full-on <strong><em>strangling</em></strong> his father. The bitter stench of alcohol, pairs with the smoke from the lit joint, and it <em>unpleasantly</em> reminds him of his many, consecutive <strong>deaths</strong> at this drunken asshole’s hand.</p><p>He does, however, rush forward and latch onto the bastard’s shirt, effectively <strong>pinning</strong> him to the headboard.</p><p>“Have you been fucking with your <em>daughter</em>, Stuart?” Kenny utters, with a sharp edge to his tone.</p><p>“Get <strong><em>off</em></strong> of him!” his mother shouts attempting to pry him off, but he slaps her hand away.</p><p>“Stay <strong><em>out</em></strong> of this, <em>Carol!”</em> Kenny hisses, spitefully. “<em>Answer</em> me!” he raises his voice a tick, and slams him <em>again</em>, against the headboard.</p><p>His father grunts, from the forceful impact of the slam, irritation reflects in his eyes. “Fuck you, <em>you</em> <em>little</em> <strong><em>shit</em></strong><em>!</em> What’s <em>that</em> supposed to fucking mean?” he slurs, furiously.</p><p>“I think you know <strong><em>exactly</em></strong> what it means you disgusting, piece of <em>shit!”</em> Kenny shoots back, narrowing his eyes. “You think I wouldn’t <strong>notice</strong> her change in <em>demeanor</em>, you wasted <strong><em>excuse</em></strong> for a father?!” he roars in contempt. “She’s <em>fearful</em> and she’s changed her whole <em>fucking</em> appearance!”</p><p>The man’s eyes narrow and his hands reach for Kenny, but he’s <em>already</em> prepared for that. Lashing out, he strikes his father in the jaw with a closed fist and slams him again, completely ignoring his mother’s <em>frantic</em> cries.</p><p>“I don’t <strong><em>know</em></strong> why she looks like that! <strong><em>Honest!</em></strong> She’s been that way for almost an entire fucking <em>month</em> now! She changed overnight, one day! I don’t fucking <strong>know</strong> why! Where the <strong><em>fuck</em></strong> have you been that you only just noticed <strong><em>now</em></strong><em>?</em> <em>Huh? </em>Get the <strong>fuck</strong> off me!”</p><p>The news that Karen’s been like this, almost, since he <strong><em>died</em></strong>, hits him <em>harder</em> than he expects. It’s almost like, his chest has had a <strong><em>hole</em></strong> punched through it—like, he’s being physically, <strong>wrenched</strong> apart.</p><p>He should have <em>fucking</em> been here.</p><p>Right now, he wants to find someone <strong><em>else</em></strong> to blame, though—<em>anyone else</em> to blame. And this <em>spineless</em>, piece of shit, will do.</p><p>“You’re her <strong><em>father</em></strong><em>!</em> You should have at least <strong>tried</strong> to find the fuck out! If I have to come <em>back</em> here, because I find out that <strong>you</strong> fucking caused her to be like this in <strong><em>any</em></strong> fucking way, I <em>will</em> fucking <strong><em>kill</em></strong> you! <em>Understand?”</em></p><p>Kenny knows his father well enough to know he <em>isn’t</em> lying—he really <strong>doesn’t</strong> know anything—but that doesn’t make him any less <em>suspect</em> in Kenny’s eyes.</p><p>If the man got <strong>drunk</strong> enough, he might not <strong><em>remember</em></strong> what he did. And if he <strong><em>was</em></strong> drunk … and <strong>horny</strong>, he might not have cared about the <em>staggering</em> differences between <em>Karen</em> and his <strong><em>wife</em></strong>.</p><p>It wouldn’t have been the first time that Karen screamed for her <em>‘Guardian Angel’</em> in her bedroom, only for Kenny to answer the call and find her <strong>pinned</strong> to her mattress with that <em>alcoholic bastard</em> on top of her, forcing kisses and <strong>groping</strong> her parts.</p><p>It’s been a while, though, since Kenny <em>caught</em> their father like that—and he’d <em>always</em> gotten there in enough time to prevent anything from going any further than <em>uncomfortable touches.</em></p><p>“Fuck off, you little <strong><em>bastard</em></strong><em>!”</em> his father retorts, snidely. But Kenny knows that <strong><em>he</em></strong> knows, that he <em>isn’t</em> fucking around.</p><p>Deciding that that’s the most he’s bound to coax out of him, Kenny, leaps down off the bed, turns on his heel, and disappears back through the window, with a <em>‘slam.’</em></p><p>He settles (<em>still in his costume</em>) on the edge of his bed and smokes a joint, completely drained.</p><p>He doesn’t have a <strong>fucking</strong> <strong><em>clue</em></strong>, who or <em>what</em>, turned Karen into this sullen mess, and he’s no closer to actually uncovering an answer to that particular question, either.</p><p>And for just a moment, he wonders if it really <em>is</em>, just because he <em>died</em> … just because he was <strong>absent</strong> for such a long stretch, <strong><em>this</em></strong> time around.</p><p>He knows he can’t overlook that <strong>express</strong> possibility, despite how shitty it makes him <strong>feel</strong> to even <em>consider</em> it.</p><p>The sudden <em>slam</em> of the front door, jolts him from his swirling thoughts. Footsteps pass near his door and he hears a <em>creak</em> from just down the hall, as a bedroom door opens and closes.</p><p>For some reason, it never occurred to him to question his elder brother. Sure, he’s a <strong><em>fucking</em></strong> asshole, but he potentially knows something, <em>worthwhile</em>.</p><p>After a second of debate, Kenny, decides it can’t hurt to try and get some kind of answer out of <em>Kevin</em>. Though he’s a drunken fucking bastard <em>ninety-percent</em> of the time, <em>too</em>, he’s got more brains in his head than their <strong><em>father</em></strong>, ever does.</p><p>Slipping back through his window, Kenny, trails around to the other side of the house and peeks into his <em>siblings’</em> window.</p><p>Kevin and Karen have shared a room for as long as he can remember. Their house is a <em>shitty</em>, one-floor, three-bedroom crapshoot.</p><p>For no particular reason, Kenny, has <em>always</em> had his own bedroom, despite not being the eldest, and he’s never asked his parents <em>why</em> that is—it’s just <em>always</em> been that way.</p><p>Karen usually finds her way into his room, anyway. So, it’s almost like he <strong><em>does</em></strong> share it.</p><p>Peeking in through the filthy glass, Kenny, can’t <em>believe</em> what he’s seeing.</p><p>The lights are switched off, and the room is steeped in darkness, only the moonlight shines remotely through. The window is broken, with a bit of sheet plastic over the break, making it easy for him to decipher the sounds inside.</p><p>“G-Get the fuck <em>off</em> me, Kevin! Y-You always m-make it <strong><em>hurt</em></strong> …” the sound of Karen’s distressed voice comes through in muffles.</p><p>Although its difficult to see, (<em>more than the strain of two dark shapes on Karen’s mattress</em>) Kenny, hears the rip of fabric clear as day.</p><p>“Shuddup, you little skank, <em>Bitch!</em> Like you haven’t spread your thighs for our brother like the little goth <em>whore</em>, you are!” Kevin spews back with a drunken slur, vilely. “If you can let <em>him</em> fuck you, you can take <strong><em>me</em></strong>, too.”</p><p>The sound of kisses being forced along Karen’s body come next, and she makes little sounds in her throat as she fights with him.</p><p>“P-Please, K-Kevin! Please … P-Please <em>don’t!”</em> she sniffles and scratches at him with her nails.</p><p>Kenny is rigid with <em>shock</em>. His body <strong><em>wants</em></strong> to move—wants to <strong><em>react</em></strong>—but his mind can’t fathom what he’s <strong>seeing</strong>—what he’s <strong><em>hearing</em></strong><em>!</em></p><p>It’s like something out of a <em>nightmare</em>. Is <strong>this</strong> what has been transpiring since his death?</p><p><em>Every</em> night? To <em>Karen?</em></p><p>Kevin is <em>sixteen</em> and Karen’s only <strong>ten</strong>—she doesn’t stand am inkling of a chance against fighting him …</p><p>Everything Karen said to him, <em>hits</em> all at once, like a goddamned freight train.</p><p>“You can <em>cry</em> all you want, but no one is coming to save you. Where’s your ‘<em>Guardian Angel’</em>, now, huh?” Kevin taunts, “He’s let me ravage you as much as I <em>want</em>—some <strong><em>Angel</em></strong> he is.”</p><p>Karen’s cries worsen and she fights like a <em>wildcat</em>, which does <strong>nothing</strong> to Kevin. If anything, it seems to arouse him <strong><em>more</em></strong>.</p><p>“Just give <em>in</em>, you know you <strong><em>always</em></strong> do.” The confident tone in Kevin’s voice sends spiraling <em>chills</em> through Kenny’s whole body.</p><p>Just the <strong>way</strong> he says it, cues him in on the fact that Kevin’s done this <strong><em>more</em></strong> than just a couple times … and <em>he’s</em> not been around to stop him …</p><p>Those words are finally enough to snap him out of his evident shock in order to <strong>spring</strong> into action.</p><p>With agile movements, Kenny, shoves up the window, and leaps in through the opening, launching at Kevin with the full force of his <em>pure</em> <strong><em>rage</em></strong>.</p><p>Despite being several inches <em>shorter</em> than Kevin, he’s taken on their dick of a father enough times not to be intimidated by the likes of him.</p><p>He uses Kevin’s split-second of <strong>awe</strong> to tear him off of Karen, launching him to the floor. Kevin’s pants are down around his knees, temporarily aiding in <strong>subduing</strong> him in a heap.</p><p>When Kenny takes the nanosecond allotted to him, to peer down and take in the raging boner his brother’s sporting, that’s enough to make him see <strong><em>red</em></strong>.</p><p>“You fucking piece of <em>shit!”</em> Kenny (<em>miraculously</em>) remembers to rage in <em>‘Mysterion’s’</em> deep-set voice. “She’s your fucking <strong><em>sister!</em></strong> You’re supposed to fucking <strong><em>protect</em></strong> her!”</p><p>Kenny’s barely aware of his own actions, because he’s never been <strong><em>this</em></strong> furious before.</p><p>The truth is worse than anything he could have come up with in his <strong>head</strong>. He’d imagined <em>drugs</em>, or <strong><em>bullying</em></strong> … rape by an <strong>outside</strong> source, <em>possibly</em>—but <strong><em>never</em></strong> this!</p><p>This is beyond all <strong><em>reason</em></strong>—beyond <strong><em>all</em></strong> else!</p><p>Although, he throws a slew of punches down at his <strong>worthless</strong> brother, Kevin’s, initial shock at his sudden appearance, wears off pretty fucking quick, and pretty soon, he finds himself in an all-out <strong><em>tussle</em></strong> with Kevin.</p><p>Punches are <strong>thrown</strong>, as Kevin worms around on the carpet with him. Kenny’s belly roars with even more <strong>heightened</strong> rage, when he feels the sudden press of Kevin’s (<em>still erect</em>) cock against him in the <strong>thick</strong> of it.</p><p>“Protect <em>her?!”</em> Kevin laughs, “And <strong>what</strong>? Dress up in a gay little costume like <strong><em>you</em></strong> do? You’re just a wimpy little fucking <em>kid</em> with a <strong><em>crush</em></strong><em>!</em> Well, your little <strong>crush</strong> is <strong><em>mine</em></strong>, now! Get the fuck <em>over</em> it, wimp!” Kevin shouts down at him at one point, when he manages to wrestle away Kenny’s <strong>control</strong> and shove his <em>face</em> down into the carpet.</p><p>Kenny vibrates and seethes with unchecked <em>anger</em>, when he takes in the sound of Karen’s cries, just above him on her <strong>mattress</strong>.</p><p>He finds the strength to steal <em>back</em> control, and kick out with his legs, detaching his elder brother in one fell swoop. Launching out with his <strong>fists</strong>, he lands a punch to his <em>stomach</em>, then <strong><em>cheek</em></strong>. One after the other, after the <em>other</em>, until Kevin plummets to the ground, freeing him.</p><p>Kenny stands back up, completely out of breath, red in the face (<em>under his mask</em>) and still <strong>shrouded</strong> in disbelief.</p><p>“F-Fuck you!” Kenny shouts, “You’re a fucking <strong><em>monster</em></strong><em>!”</em></p><p>Kevin isn’t ready to give up just yet, much to <em>Kenny’s</em> chagrin and he charges and sends them <strong>both</strong> tumbling back down to the ground.</p><p>Karen <em>shrieks</em> and Kenny can hear her muffled pleas for them to stop fighting, but he can’t make out her <strong>exact</strong> words through the roar of <em>blood</em> in his ears.</p><p>This time, <em>Kevin</em>, has the upper-hand, and his blows land in the proper places to <strong>incapacitate</strong> him, completely.</p><p>Kenny can feel the wind knocked out of his lungs and wheezes through a <em>fit</em> of coughs.</p><p>Karen’s screams are the loudest they’ve <strong><em>ever</em></strong> been, and everything inside of him wants to <em>get</em> to her.</p><p>When the punches <em>finally</em> cease, Kenny, can barely move, let alone break <em>free</em> from his brother’s cruel hold. He continues to cough and hack as the underside of his skin <strong>percolates</strong> with agony.</p><p>“Not so tough, <strong><em>now</em></strong>, are you, <em>Ken?”</em> his brother jeers down at him and icy chills, <em>once again</em>, spread <strong>everywhere</strong>.</p><p>Even though, Kenny is still <strong><em>remotely</em></strong> numb throughout his body from various <em>dead</em> nerves, he’s in so <strong><em>much</em></strong> pain that he can feel a <strong>significant</strong> portion of what has been <strong><em>done</em></strong> to him.</p><p>That tells him it’s <strong><em>bad</em></strong><em> … </em></p><p>Tears make trails down his cheeks, and he even more <em>desperately</em> wants to go to, Karen, now that he hears her sobs <em>worsening</em>.</p><p>“You think I didn’t <strong><em>know</em></strong> who you are? <em>‘Guardian’?” </em>Kevin scoffs. “I’m not fucking <em>retarded</em>—I’m not our <strong>parents</strong>.”</p><p>Kenny makes a bitter attempt to appeal to Kevin, one final time. “She’s our <strong><em>sister</em></strong> …” he whimpers, brokenly.</p><p>“Yeah? <em>So?</em> You fuck her, <em>too</em>, Ken. You think I haven’t heard you two going at it, <em>huh?</em> Can’t blame you, though. She’s tight and <em>hot</em>, when she doesn’t put all this <em>shit</em> on her face, anyway …” he mutters, as if that <strong><em>somehow</em></strong> makes it okay.</p><p>Kenny’s stomach turns over and he hates that he can’t <em>deny</em> Kevin’s statements about him—at least not <strong>fully</strong>.</p><p>“I would <em>never</em> hurt her …” Kenny utters, his heart shattered, completely.</p><p>Kevin seems to mull something over for a moment, and his expression suddenly <strong><em>changes</em></strong>.</p><p>“I bet you’re <strong><em>tighter</em></strong> than her, aren’t you, <em>Faggot?”</em> Kevin pins him harder when Kenny musters one last burst of strength and tries to wrench free, futilely. “Maybe I’ll hurt <strong><em>you</em></strong>, instead,” Kevin mocks.</p><p>Panic grips Kenny’s chest, and his muscles tighten. He barely registers what Kevin says—<em>what he</em> <strong><em>intends</em></strong>—before his brother’s fingers are already <em>prodding</em> at his costume’s <strong>waistband</strong>. Kevin tugs it under his ass in one <strong>swift</strong> motion, fingering around his rectum, <em>loosely</em>.</p><p>Kenny starts to squirm, under his big brother’s <strong>tightening</strong> grip and ignores the sharp bursts of <em>pain</em> in his ribs and sides with every squirm.</p><p>“F-Fuck! <em>Don’t</em>! Kevin! G-Get <strong>off</strong> of me!” his voice goes high-pitched and muffles into the carpet, cobalt-eyes widen under his mask.</p><p>Karen’s been <strong>watching</strong> this shit play out, in tears from her mattress, Kenny, can just make out the little sniffles she’s making just <strong>above</strong> him.</p><p>“D-Don’t hurt, <em>Kenny!</em> Please, K-Kevin! <em>Please!</em> I’ll be <strong>good</strong>! I w-won’t <em>cry</em> … I-I’ll let you f-fuck me, just <strong>p-please</strong> … Leave Kenny <em>b-be!”</em> Kenny feels Karen tug on Kevin’s arm, <em>detaching</em> his fingers from where he’s still fingering his hole.</p><p>“No! <em>K-Karen!”</em> Kenny squeals in hysterics, “Get <strong><em>out</em></strong> of here! J-Just go to my <em>r-room!</em> Lock the d<em>-door!”</em> Kenny pleads with her, knowing that if Kevin fixates on him, then at least he’ll have <em>succeeded</em> in his mission—<em>protect Karen.</em></p><p>He’s allowed <strong><em>Stan</em></strong> to use him for pleasure enough times to not be <em>daunted</em> by rape. It <strong><em>will</em></strong> hurt—<em>like a</em> <strong><em>bitch</em></strong>—but if it’s the price of saving Karen from enduring <em>this</em>, even <em>one</em> more time, then it’s of no consequence to him.</p><p>He will <em>always</em> sacrifice his <strong>pride</strong>—<em>his</em> <strong><em>dignity</em></strong>—in a <strong>heartbeat</strong> for his only sister.</p><p>Kevin’s too drunk to reason with right now. Kenny can taste it in the air. His brother reeks of <em>hardcore</em> drugs and booze. The combination created this <em>monster</em> that’s devoid of <strong>all</strong> constructs of morals.</p><p>“No! I w-won’t <em>leave</em> you!” Karen insists.</p><p>Kevin seems to revel in their <strong>arguing</strong>, because his next words strike home.</p><p>“How <strong><em>noble</em></strong> of you to sacrifice yourself for our <em>sister</em>. Run along, Karen. Do as our <em>brother</em>, says,” Kevin orders her.</p><p>“Please, Karen! <strong><em>Go</em></strong><em>!”</em> Kenny shouts, unable to <strong>see</strong> her, because Kevin is still pressing his face to the <em>stained</em> carpet.</p><p>He <em>can</em> hear her, though. She <strong>sniffles</strong> a few more times, before she climbs out of her bed. He listens for the door to click open and shut, and his muscles (<em>finally</em>) <strong>visibly</strong> relax as he realizes his own fate is sealed.</p><p>It’s the <strong>worst</strong> sensation imaginable, coming into the knowledge that he’s been <em>outmaneuvered</em> by his own <strong><em>brother</em></strong>. That Kevin is <em>capable</em> of such atrocious actions.</p><p>Now, Kenny, realizes he’s <strong>always</strong> going to be this disposable being, that suffers and breaks under the weight of other people. It’s a never-ending loop of pain he’s made to endure.</p><p>It occurs over and over and no one, <em>ever</em>, seems to care.</p><p><em>No one</em>, except for, <strong>Karen</strong>.</p><p>Beloved little Karen, who loves him when no one else does and whom he <em>swore</em> to protect—<em>at all costs</em>, even at his <strong>own</strong> detriment.</p><p>“It’s just <em>us</em>, now, Faggot,” Kevin rasps in his cold-blooded voice, tickling the little hairs on his neck from where it peeks out underneath his hood.</p><p>“Just get <em>on</em> with it …” Kenny pleads, desperate for the worst to be <strong>over</strong>—for the tear of his <em>renewed</em> flesh to open around his brother’s swollen <strong>girth</strong>.</p><p>He had felt the <em>brush</em> of Kevin’s prick when they fought, <em>hot</em> and <strong><em>thick</em></strong> with need, flush between their bodies. This <em>wasn’t</em> going to be fucking pretty … but nothing <strong><em>ever</em></strong> fucking is—Kenny never has truly experienced luxury and joy, <em>‘white trash’ </em>like him doesn’t deserve to. He is finally beginning to accept Cartman’s various spiels regarding his <em>‘kind’</em>, as truth.</p><p>After <strong>tonight</strong>, what else <em>can</em> he do?</p><p>Kenny whimpers as he <em>feels</em> his brother climb on top of him, keeping him pinned under his superior weight, so that his body feels acutely like it’s being <strong><em>suffocated</em></strong> under the bulk, and soon enough that thick <strong>poke</strong> is right at his hole, and Kenny shuts his eyes, wishing to be somewhere else—<strong><em>anywhere</em></strong><em> else</em>—right now.</p><p>His fists clench and Kevin <strong>shoves</strong> home—<em>all at once</em>—tearing into him without a <em>second</em> of relent.</p><p>It’s white-hot pain and he’s not as numb, <em>there</em>, as he had hoped he’d be. It’s all <em>burn</em> and <strong><em>ache</em></strong>—mixed with perfunctory <em>shame</em> and <strong>tears</strong>. He screeches in a high-pitch that sounds like a dying animal of some sort (<em>even to his own ears</em>) but he can’t help them.</p><p>Stan’s boyhood is <em>much</em> smaller than Kevin’s and a more uniquely <strong>tailored</strong> fit to Kenny’s entrance. Kevin is almost the build of a <strong><em>man</em></strong>, less child-like, nearly fully-grown <em>into</em> his puberty. Kenny is budding on pubescence, but hasn’t <em>quite</em> hit the mark just yet. And this bleeding <strong><em>ache</em></strong> Kevin is tearing in him—is <strong>unbearable</strong>!</p><p>Screeches emit, even louder from his throat, as he <em>suffers</em> the brutal extent of his complete injuries.</p><p>While also <strong><em>inconceivably</em></strong> tortured by the haunting knowledge that Karen (<em>with her lither frame</em>) has gone through this <em>every night</em> for the past <strong>month</strong>, and he could have been <em>here</em> for her. He could have put an end to it, before it <em>began</em>.</p><p>But he was <strong>selfish</strong>. So goddamned <em>fucking</em> selfish, and he doesn’t know how to <strong>live</strong> with that—<em>with himself.</em></p><p>Kenny understands, <em>now</em>, the will to give up, the ultimate <strong>defeat</strong> and betrayal she must have <strong>experienced</strong> because of <strong><em>his</em></strong> decision. He <em>wants</em> to give up, too. Give <strong><em>in</em></strong>—<em>and let go</em>.</p><p>His body is <em>telling</em> him, that he’s not going to have a <strong><em>choice</em></strong>.</p><p>Like every time his father beats him <em>bloody</em>, until he’s broken and fading—this <strong><em>is</em></strong> going to <strong>kill</strong> him!</p><p>The wounds are <em>jabbing</em> at his sides, feeding his every conceivable shame and degradation, and accompanying despicable words of <em>taunting</em> from Kevin’s lips.</p><p>“You’re <strong><em>soft</em></strong> … just like our <em>sister</em>, Ken,” Kevin whispers with a moaned-husk to his <strong>surly</strong> tone and iciness floods throughout his entire body and he wants to <em>die</em>, (<em>for real and eternally this time</em>) right here, on the spot.</p><p>Because Kevin’s vile hands have <em>wormed</em> their way underneath the shirt of his costume in order to <strong>caress</strong> his sides and divots, in the same manner his <strong><em>lovers</em></strong> always have. The way, <strong><em>Stan</em></strong>, always has …</p><p>And he has to hold <strong>in</strong> his vomit—has to swallow what bile rises in his throat, because he can’t <strong>fathom</strong> being sick when he already tastes the acridness of <em>blood</em> in his mouth.</p><p>He tries to answer, but all that comes out is a <strong>choked</strong> little sob, and blinding tears well in his eyes. Because it’s <strong><em>broken</em></strong> him.</p><p>His fucked-up, <em>fucking</em> brother, has <strong><em>broken</em></strong> him …</p><p>And his limbs go still and he <strong>stops</strong> fighting, because something in his brain tells him, in this moment, that <strong><em>this</em></strong> is all he’s good for.</p><p>
  <em>Being <strong>fucked</strong>.</em>
</p><p>He’s not <strong>rough</strong> and <strong><em>hard</em></strong> around the edges, like a boy is <em>supposed</em> to be. No. He’s <em>soft</em> and <em>silky</em>—and <strong>sensitive</strong>. So <strong><em>sensitive</em></strong>, that he feels his boyhood starting to <strong>react</strong> to the stringent <em>stimulation</em>. Despite his numbness, despite his <em>broken</em>, <strong>battered</strong> state, his brother’s sharp thrusts are helping <em>stimulate</em> him against the <strong>filthy</strong> carpet.</p><p>The prod of his cock and <strong>dangling</strong> balls aren’t covered by fabric, they are <strong>open</strong> to the air, to the <strong><em>carpet</em></strong> … and he’s starting to <em>feel</em> … just <strong><em>feel</em></strong>, like he does when <em>Stan’s</em> inside of him.</p><p>It’s all <strong>kinds</strong> of <em>fucked</em> and he knows it—but he’s powerless to stop himself from <strong>succumbing</strong> to it, just the same.</p><p>Kevin keeps whispering discreet <em>cruelties</em> in his ear, all the time, meant to crush what’s <strong><em>left</em></strong> of his spirit, and they are—<em>they <strong>do</strong>.</em></p><p>“You’ve <em>taken</em> a <strong><em>boy</em></strong> before, Ken, haven’t you? Yeah, you’re <strong>not</strong> a virgin like I thought … you like this, <em>too</em>, much … look at you <em>quiver</em> … look at how <strong>red</strong> you are …” The words blend together and Kenny tries to tune them out, but he catches the particularly hurtful ones and he cries fat tears, when he does.</p><p>“Do you like this, <strong><em>Ken</em></strong><em>?</em> Do you <em>like</em> playing the <strong><em>girl</em></strong> for other boys?” Those words shoot straight to his brain, and he can’t tune them out.</p><p>They <strong><em>hurt</em></strong>.</p><p>Maybe the <strong>worst</strong> of anything else, that’s been said.</p><p>“S-Stop!” he manages to croak out, <em>somehow</em>, through the tears and agonized simpers.</p><p>Kevin revels in his <em>singular</em> cry, and pushes even harder into Kenny’s ass, rutting him into the floor with a <strong>driving</strong> force that has Kenny seeing stars.</p><p>With a shudder, Kenny, spills his seed, <em>painting</em> the carpet with tiny <strong>spatters</strong> of hot, milky-white fluid.</p><p>It’s the <em>final</em> shame he’s made to endure, because Kevin is shoving his face—<em>with a mighty force</em>—into the carpet fibers until he can’t <strong>breathe,</strong> anymore.</p><p>It’s a <em>mercy</em>, when the lights go out and his consciousness <em>drifts</em> away and he feels himself <strong>floating</strong>, leaving, <em>fleeing</em> this moment of despair and <strong><em>mortification</em></strong>.</p><p>He clocks it as his <strong><em>worst</em></strong> death, the worst <strong><em>suffering</em></strong> he’s ever <strong><em>known</em></strong>, and he begs <strong>God</strong> to keep him <em>dead</em> this time. Because he deserves no less, and prays to <strong>God</strong> that Karen escapes, because he’s fucking <strong><em>useless</em></strong> when it comes to saving her and he <em>knows</em> that now.</p><p>Kevin’s a <strong>monster</strong>, and Kenny’s no match for <em>this</em> kind of monster …</p><p>He sees <strong><em>her</em></strong> face, again, just like <strong><em>always</em></strong>, and he knows he’s <em>failed</em> her—<strong><em>again</em></strong>.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>iv. little ache-ish wounds that suffer &amp; bleed.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It’s <em>not</em> been a <strong>month</strong> this time. It’s not even been a single <strong><em>night</em></strong>.</p><p>He opens his reconstructed eyes to the pale <em>moonlight</em> of his bedroom, where Karen lays, <em>astride</em> him—like so <strong>many</strong> times before.</p><p>But she’s still got her make-up smeared across her bottom pout, same as <strong><em>he</em></strong> made it, back when he wiped it away with his thumb, <strong>earlier</strong> in the night.</p><p>He’s <em>less</em> disoriented as he comes out of it, this time around, but the replenishment of his <strong>divinity</strong> is made up for by the congruent blast of <em>shame</em> and <strong>turmoil</strong> he awakens to.</p><p>The touch of <strong>flesh</strong> on top of him, proves <em>too</em> much—<em>even though it’s Karen</em>—and he instinctively (<em>with a flight or fight response</em>) shoves her off of him, harder than he <strong>ever</strong> would have, consciously.</p><p>His skin is fucking <strong>crawling</strong>, like bugs have chewed underneath the surface, and he doesn’t just <strong>feel</strong> disgusting and tainted, but <strong><em>used</em></strong>.</p><p>Kevin used him for <em>sick</em>, degrading <strong><em>pleasure</em></strong>—called him a stand-in <strong><em>girl</em></strong>—just like <strong><em>Stan</em></strong> always has.</p><p>He crumples into tears of anxiety and begins to shake <em>worse</em> than Tweek in one of his full-fledged meltdowns. Sobs conglomerate in his throat and he feels like he can’t <strong><em>breathe</em></strong>—like he might <strong>suffocate</strong> on <strong><em>air</em></strong>.</p><p>And then, warm palms are on his <em>cheeks</em>, stroking the skin, soothing the <strong>burn</strong> of humiliation in him, with <em>effort</em>.</p><p>Residual pain is <strong>mounting</strong> in his rectum, and a searing ache settles just <em>under</em> his ribs, where he’d been hit hardest in his fight with Kevin, and some of the <strong>numbness</strong> from the pond still lingers, as well.</p><p><em>Some</em>, but not <strong><em>all</em></strong> …</p><p>“You’re <em>safe</em> … It’s only <strong><em>me</em></strong> … you’re <strong><em>safe</em></strong> with me, Angel …” she soothes, and it’s only <em>after</em> she says those words that he realizes his body is donning his <strong><em>costume</em></strong>, still.</p><p>Like he is <em>indeed</em> some kind of <strong>fucking</strong> guardian angel …</p><p>With ire, he <em>shoves</em> her hands away and peels off the costume, throwing piece by piece of the <strong><em>heinous</em></strong> thing to the floor, until he’s <strong>naked</strong> on his bed. Stripped and bare to the <em>flesh</em>.</p><p>Shivering, from the cold in this <em>shitty</em>, ice-box of a bedroom, he <strong>finally</strong> allows Karen’s fingers to <em>touch</em> him again.</p><p>At least on the <strong>cheeks</strong>, and <em>shoulders</em> …</p><p>Because his pushing her away, has her in <strong>tears</strong>. She looks <strong>hopeless</strong>, and he <em>knows</em> that feeling.</p><p>
  <em>He’s caught in it, <strong>now</strong>.</em>
</p><p>With <em>tremors</em> he drags his sister near, and clutches <strong>tight</strong> to her—letting his nose brush against her <em>scalp</em>, inhaling the flowery, girl-like scent that <strong>clings</strong> to her. Part of her smells like <em>their</em> house, but there’s also a particular <strong>essence</strong> of hers that’s consequentially, <strong><em>Karen</em></strong>.</p><p>“Why did you <strong>do</strong> that?” Karen chokes out, through her shimmering tears and Kenny isn’t sure whether she means, tear his <em>clothes</em> off, or <strong>sacrifice</strong> himself for <em>her</em> …</p><p>Wiping his tears, backhandedly, he <em>teeters</em> on the edge of disillusion.</p><p>Every fucking thing he <strong>tries</strong> to do, just pulls him <em>further</em> away from his sanity. Pretty soon, he’s not going to know <strong>how</strong> to behave—he barely knows how he’ll <em>ever</em> get over what just transpired in his <strong>siblings’</strong> bedroom.</p><p>“Kare, I couldn’t <em>let</em> him …” He has to hold back the urge to vomit, <em>bile</em> rising in his throat. Swallowing through his <strong>discomfort</strong>, he tries again. “You could have <strong><em>told</em></strong> me … you <em>should</em> have told me. You never should have gone <strong>back</strong> in there, tonight.”</p><p>“I didn’t want to <em>involve</em> you … I didn’t want you to get <em>hurt!”</em></p><p>Karen is <strong>suddenly</strong> breaking into sobs, <em>again</em>. Dropping her eyes, and <strong>fidgeting</strong> over his lap. The scrub of her clothes particularly <em>unpleasant</em> against his crawling flesh.</p><p>It’s like little prickles of <em>hurt</em> scraping across his sensitive skin, reminding him of <em>Kevin’s</em> denim jeans rubbing against the back of his upper-legs.</p><p>The <strong>reminder</strong> is, too, much.</p><p>Stilling her ministrations, Kenny, pants while <em>trying</em> to clear away his thoughts.</p><p><em>“Fuck,”</em> he grunts out. “Kare-Bear … Can you take <em>off</em> your clothes?” It’s a spontaneous question, and he doesn’t mean it to sound <em>sexual</em>, despite the connotations.</p><p><em>“W-What?”</em> If nothing else, he’s managed to shock her tears away, <strong>entirely</strong>.</p><p>Thumbing away the last of her precious tears, he sighs out a deep, <strong>stifled</strong> breath.</p><p>“It’s just … the fucking <strong><em>fabric</em></strong> …” he attempts to explain, “I can still <em>feel</em> …” he <strong><em>tries</em></strong>, but can’t manage to finish his sentence.</p><p>Understanding crosses her features and she climbs off of his lap, <strong><em>immediately</em></strong>, shedding off her black, <em>goth-like</em> clothes, before she settles back down on his thighs.</p><p>The <strong>compress</strong> of her natural body heat, like a shrouding wreath of comfort, encompassing him, urgently.</p><p>“This <em>better?”</em> she asks with a somber <strong>flare</strong> in her cerulean eyes.</p><p>The <em>trembles</em> are beginning to subside, as he talks himself back down from the brink. Karen cuddles him, <em>affectionately</em>, and his eyes leak a few incumbent tears, as he settles down, the tiniest bit.</p><p>“God … <em>Karen</em> …” Kenny rasps, swallowing around a lump that is stuck in his throat. “I never fucking suspected him to be <strong>capable</strong> of … I mean I always <em>knew</em> he was a fucking dick …”</p><p>She tilts up her chin and <strong>claims</strong> his lips. Trekking her tongue along the upper and lower rims, <em>silencing</em> his train of thought.</p><p>What he has with, Karen, will <strong>always</strong> be <em>‘White Trash’</em> and depraved sickness … but it doesn’t <strong>compare</strong> to their brother—to Kevin—and what he’s <em>stolen</em> from them both.</p><p>The <strong><em>havoc</em></strong> he wreaks …</p><p>When the <em>kiss</em> breaks, Kenny, strains to <strong>recapture</strong> his breath, steadying his chest heaves. Karen weaves her <em>fingers</em> into his strands of hair in the back, keeping him <strong>close</strong>.</p><p>“I can <em>handle</em> him, Kenny. I’ve been <strong>handling</strong> his advances …” she defends, bluntly in a soft tone.</p><p>“You <em>shouldn’t</em> have been. I should have fucking <strong>been</strong> here, Kare-Bear. I’m a <strong><em>shit</em></strong> big brother, and I <em>fucked</em> up …”</p><p>She firmly shakes her head. “You don’t <strong>understand</strong>, Kenny … I’m at fault, <em>too</em>. I … I brought this on <strong>myself</strong> …”</p><p>He can’t <em>believe</em> what he’s hearing. She’s blaming <em>herself?</em> For <em>that</em> fucking animal?</p><p>Kenny is still mulling over <em>what</em> to do, internally. He wishes he could tell their parents, but knows that wouldn’t <em>resolve</em> anything. Their asshole of a father <em>wouldn’t</em> believe him, anyway.</p><p>“You’re <em>not</em> to blame here, Kare. He should have kept his fucking <strong>hands</strong> off of you,” Kenny swallows emotionally, “off of <strong><em>us</em></strong>,” he corrects.</p><p>He studies her eyes and she purses her lips, glancing down.</p><p>“I … I caught him with his <em>hand</em> down his pants, stroking himself …” she admits in a whisper. “You were gone <em>for <strong>days</strong> </em>and I … I came home from your <strong><em>funeral</em></strong>, Kenny, and I was <em>so</em> sad … so <strong><em>hurt</em></strong> because you were <strong>gone</strong> …” She scrunches her hands into little fists and his stomach drops, descending into a bitter pit.</p><p>“Kare … What <strong><em>are</em></strong> you talking about?” he doesn’t want to <strong>believe</strong> her. He doesn’t want to think about what she’s <em>saying</em>—to face it—but she’s <strong>forcing</strong> him to.</p><p>More tears fall, with <em>rampant</em> speed as she explains in greater detail, what <strong>she</strong> did.</p><p>“I caught him when he was in the <strong>middle</strong> … <em>dissatisfied</em> … and I … I <em>kissed</em> him,” her breathing is starting to heighten and sniffles block out her air.</p><p>Kenny’s heart begins to fall and he has to stop himself from feeling the waves of <em>guilt</em>, full-on. Because he really <strong>was</strong> the cause of her suffering. More than he ever would have <strong>believed</strong> he was …</p><p>“It was a split-second <em>decision</em>—I don’t even have <strong>feelings</strong> for Kevin, but I … he was just fucking <strong><em>there</em></strong> and … I didn’t know how <strong>badly</strong> it would hurt to be with him … or how <em>obsessive</em> he’d become about having me,” she reasons.</p><p>“Jesus … <em>Fuck</em> …” Kenny mutters, shock overwhelming his system.</p><p>Wiping at her tears, Karen, continues, because once she’s <em>started</em>, she doesn’t appear able to <em>help</em> herself, “I changed my <strong>look</strong>. I told him <strong><em>no</em></strong>, but he just <em>takes</em> what he wants. Calls me his <strong>whore</strong>. I thought he’d be <strong>gentle</strong> with me, like <strong><em>you’re</em></strong> gentle, Kenny … but I was <em>wrong</em>. I was <strong>so</strong> wrong … and I don’t <em>deserve</em> you, because of what <em>I’ve</em> done! I don’t fucking deserve <strong><em>anything</em></strong><em>!”</em></p><p>Kenny draws her in close and muffles her tears into his shoulder, trying to <strong>process</strong> all of this, in his head, but it’s really fucking difficult.</p><p>It’s so <em>much</em> to take in.</p><p>“I don’t <em>blame</em> you, Kare-Bear,” he secedes, pushing aside his own <strong>risen</strong> feelings of <em>hurt</em> and <strong><em>jealousy</em></strong>, like he always does. “I’m the one that <strong>forced</strong> you away.”</p><p>And he <strong><em>was</em></strong>.</p><p>By repeatedly <em>insisting</em> that she couldn’t be his lover, then taking his <strong>own</strong> life … he’d inadvertently driven her to seek <em>out</em> someone else—just not the <strong>someone</strong> else he’d hoped against hope that she’d go for.</p><p>He’d forbid her from Stan, but <em>not</em> Kevin … Kevin <em>never</em> crossed his mind, if he is being <em>completely</em> honest.</p><p>Kenny just witnessed Kevin’s possessive nature for himself. The <em>cruelty</em> streak that ran rampant in the eldest McCormick was far more troubling than he could ever express.</p><p>“You should fucking blame me. He hurt you, now, too …” she utters, “And I <strong>share</strong> his bedroom, he’ll hurt me again, next chance he gets. I thought my <em>changed</em> appearance would discourage him, but it hasn’t.”</p><p>“You can wear black cloth, <em>pierce</em> your skin, and smear make-up on your face, but you’ll <strong>never</strong> take away your beauty, Kare,” he warns her. “And you’re <strong><em>not</em></strong> going to share his bedroom, ever again.”</p><p>“I have to sleep <em>somewhere</em>, Angel …”</p><p>“You are gonna sleep <em>here</em>, Kare. I’ll move your bed and things, tomorrow, but he’s <em>never</em> gonna fucking touch you, against your will, <strong>ever</strong> again.”</p><p>She widens her eyes. “But you said you needed your <em>own</em> space. That you didn’t want me <em>around</em> as much …”</p><p>Kenny grips her chin and looks her steady-on, in the eyes, wanting her to <em>understand</em> this.</p><p>“That was <em>before</em>, I almost fucking <strong><em>lost</em></strong> you, Kare. And I will <strong>never</strong> take you—<strong><em>us</em></strong>—for <strong>granted</strong> again.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>xxxxxx</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Somehow, mixed-in the <em>shame</em> and self-loathing, Kenny, realizes he fell asleep with his <strong>beloved</strong> sister, naked at his side.</p><p>And somewhere in the nightmares he wrangled with, mentally, he’d reemerged from the <strong>depths</strong> of sleep, with darkish rims under his eyes and the <em>knowledge</em> that, he needed to deal with Stan.</p><p>Currently, he is staring at the <strong>voicemails</strong> on his phone, while Karen, sleeps on the mattress behind him.</p><p>This <em>needs</em> to be dealt with, <strong><em>today</em></strong>.</p><p>He makes the decision as he sifts through his phone, taking in various pictures of Stan and him, <em>smiling and happy.</em></p><p>So <strong><em>many</em></strong> fucking pictures …</p><p>Flashes of last night, worm into his traumatized mind out of nowhere. Kenny, nearly drops his phone in the <em>spontaneous</em> burst of trauma. His hands shake and breaths rise.</p><p>
  <em>‘Do you like playing the girl for other boys?’</em>
</p><p>Kevin’s <strong>vile</strong> words resound in his mind, replacing the <em>sleepiness</em> he felt just moments ago.</p><p>Tears come to his bloodshot eyes and, Kenny, gasps a few <em>times</em> for air, trying, <em>futilely</em>, not to descend into a <strong>panic</strong>. He surges up from his mattress and sifts <strong>hurriedly</strong> through his nightstand, pulling out a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka he downs a couple extensive gulps before he <strong>replaces</strong> it, and strikes up a joint.</p><p>He desperately tries to forget, last night, as he releases <em>whimper-y</em> tears from his eyes, and puffs repeatedly in <em>need</em> of a hit.</p><p>He <em>needs</em> to fucking pull himself together … he fucking <strong>knows</strong> it, but he can’t <strong>seem</strong> to.</p><p>When he thinks of <em>Stan</em>, he thinks of <strong>pain</strong>. He thinks of his heart being <em>crushed</em> to <strong><em>death</em></strong>—and now he <strong>also</strong> thinks of Kevin.</p><p><em>Fucking</em> <strong><em>Kevin</em></strong>.</p><p>The pungent smell of weed must have woken Karen from her <em>peaceful</em> sleep, because her arms are winding around him from behind—causing him to jump half out of his skin before he realizes it’s <em>her</em>—and her mildly chapped lips <em>drag</em> against his cheek.</p><p>They are <strong><em>both</em></strong> still nude (that’s how they fell <em>asleep</em> last night) and he can feel her <em>pinched</em> nipples poised at his back.</p><p>“It’s <em>okay</em>, Kenny,” she eases the words, subtly into his ear and gives his cheek another peck.</p><p>Kenny experiences the uncomfortable <em>crawling</em> of his skin and he knows he needs to get a move on.</p><p>Turning around, he snuffs out the joint, and meets her eyes in a deadlock.</p><p>“I need to go <em>out</em>, okay?” he asks, searching her eyes for a reaction.</p><p>She’s <em>unreadable</em> underneath her smeared make-up and groggy stare. Her lips crinkle a bit, and she sucks on the bottommost one, then makes a little popping sound as she pulls it <em>loose</em>.</p><p>“To see, Stan?” she states it like a <strong>fact</strong>, rather than a question, but it makes his heart <em>skitter</em> just the same.</p><p>He cups her cheeks and ignores the <em>continuing</em> crawl of his skin as he steals the <strong>tiniest</strong> of kisses from her mouth. It’s not her, that makes his skin crawl. It’s the <em>remnants</em> of torment that Kevin has left like a brand of torture on his flesh.</p><p>He feels <strong>permanently</strong> marked-up—and <em>untouchable</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Fucking Kevin!</em>
</p><p>“It doesn’t matter <em>where</em>, I just gotta fucking go, Kare. Just stay in my room … away from, <em>Kevin</em>, promise?” he urges, <strong>determination</strong> in his cerulean eyes.</p><p>She hesitates with a <em>steely</em> look on her face. “Promise not to <em>kill</em> <em>yourself</em> after you see him, this time?”</p><p>Kenny’s blood turns icy and he <strong>searches</strong> her eyes for deviance. How did she know he saw, <strong>Stan</strong>, last? Is it a <em>guess?</em> A <strong>gander</strong> of sorts?</p><p>He swallows around a <em>thickness</em> and steals another kiss.</p><p>“I told you, Kare. I’ll never <strong>purposefully</strong> leave you, again. And I <em>meant</em> it. With my <strong>whole</strong> fucking being. With all that I <em>am</em>, Kare-Bear,” he admits.</p><p>She makes a little noise in her throat, then appears to <em>agree</em>.</p><p>“<em>Fine</em>. Then, <strong>go</strong>,” she relents.</p><p>Kenny offers her a smile of gratitude, then hurries to change into his <em>usual</em> attire. Sealing his red-parka over his shirt, <strong>lastly</strong>, then heads out of his bedroom.</p><p>Listening for the <em>click</em>, as Karen locks it behind him, before he leaves out through the front door.</p><p>It’s a <em>short</em> walk through town, to Stan’s house. Being that it’s a Saturday morning, he knows that Stan probably isn’t even <em>up</em> yet, or has just <em>woken</em> up, <em>either</em>, <strong>or</strong>.</p><p>With the same sense of <em>determination,</em> he left his house with, Kenny, <em>raps</em> on the front door, listening for the sound of scuffling that comes on the other end.</p><p>It’s Stan’s dad, <em>Randy</em>, that answers the door and tells him that Stan’s fast asleep upstairs, but that he’s <strong>more</strong> than welcome to go wake him up.</p><p>Kenny takes the invitation, <em>gratefully</em>, and heads on up to Stan’s bedroom. He tiptoes inside and closes the door.</p><p>The textured sensation of his <em>clothes,</em> still manage to scratch Kenny’s skin in the <strong><em>wrong</em></strong> kind of way, so it feels good to shed off his heavy (<em>usually comforting</em>) parka, leaving behind only his short-sleeved shirt and loose-fitting sweatpants. He doesn’t even have <em>boxers</em> on under his trousers—it’s <em>too much</em> for him right now.</p><p>Stan’s peacefully sleeping <strong>without</strong> a shirt on. Kenny admires his biceps and takes in the relaxed snores from those parted lips.</p><p>He reaches down with a sudden <em>itch</em> to brush Stan’s hair aside, pushing it off his face, <strong>docilly</strong>.</p><p><em>“Stan?”</em> he whispers, having absolutely <em>no</em> desire to startle his friend awake.</p><p>Stan groans and reaches up to rub at his face, <strong>sleepily</strong>, and Kenny can’t help but notice the multitude of <strong>fresh</strong>, thin-laced scars that line Stan’s arm. The sight, <strong>alone</strong>, causes Kenny’s stomach to turn, <em>violently</em>.</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em> …” he mutters, “What have you been <strong>doing</strong> to yourself? <em>Huh?”</em></p><p>Stan opens his eyes, when Kenny reaches for his arm, dragging a <em>thumb</em> along one of the <strong><em>worst</em></strong> looking cuts, sadly.</p><p><em>“K-Kenny?”</em> Stan rasps out, with lidded eyes. <strong>Disbelief</strong> in his tone.</p><p>Internally, Kenny, wonders if Stan is going to actually <em>remember</em> his most <strong>recent</strong> demise, (<em>that Stan would know about anyway</em>) or if it will be as it <strong>always</strong> has. This time he has actual <em>proof</em> to offer Stan that he’s been <strong>absent</strong> … the <em>voicemail</em>. Stan’s own trembling vocals speaking <em>plainly</em> of Kenny’s death—his <strong><em>funeral</em></strong>.</p><p>“Yeah, it’s <em>me</em>, Dude,” Kenny answers him.</p><p>Sitting upright, Stan, rubs his eyes and <strong>squints</strong> at him, still groggy and potentially <em>disbelieving</em> his own eyes. In the interim, Kenny, <strong>reluctantly</strong> releases his hold on Stan’s cut-laced arm.</p><p>“What are you <strong><em>doing</em></strong> here, huh?” Stan mutters. “You’ve been doing a pretty <em>swell</em> job of flat-out ignoring me, lately.”</p><p>Kenny’s heart <em>plummets</em>, falling straight down into his stomach. If Stan really thinks he’s simply been <em>‘ignoring’</em> him than things are back to normal—or much the same as they’ve <strong><em>always</em></strong> been.</p><p>“You <em>don’t</em> remember, then?” Kenny sighs, frustrated.</p><p>And here he was, thinking he was going to find some <strong>fractured</strong> version of his best friend—<strong><em>his</em></strong> Stan …</p><p>“Remember <em>what?”</em> Stan finishes rubbing his eyes, only to rummage in his <strong>nightstand</strong> and pull out a joint, lighting it up, he takes in a deep lungful and sighs, dragging his <em>fingers</em> through his messy black hair.</p><p>Kenny has to really <strong>struggle</strong> not to roll his eyes.</p><p>Stan continues, “Remember how you’ve been <em>avoiding</em> me for the past month? I remember, couldn’t <strong>forget</strong> really, <em>Ken.”</em></p><p>“Don’t call me <strong>that</strong>!” Kenny snaps before he can think it through—but <strong>that</strong> name is now <strong><em>poison</em></strong>. Toxic <em>acid</em> on anyone’s tongue. It sends him <strong>right</strong> back to Kevin’s bedroom, smashed into the carpet, with <em>blaring</em> pain searing his raw, <em>bruting</em> skin …</p><p>Stan pauses, his joint halfway <em>back</em> to his lips.</p><p>“Call you <em>what?</em> <strong><em>Ken</em></strong><em>?” </em>Stan reiterates with a lift to his brow. “Why the fuck <strong>not</strong>? I’ve <em>always</em> called you that?”</p><p>Kenny starts to tremble, the <strong><em>second</em></strong> he hears it again. Tears rim his eyes and he can’t seem to prevent them from <strong>spilling</strong> over. His anxiety returns, ten-fold, and he doesn’t have <em>anything</em>—<strong><em>anyone</em></strong>—to ground him.</p><p>Stan is <strong>one</strong> of his rocks, but not right this instant. Not with how they <em>left</em> things a month ago …</p><p>And <strong>fuck</strong> if he isn’t <strong><em>losing</em></strong> his fucking mind, right now!</p><p>Stan’s eyes go wide, and Kenny can imagine what he must look like to Stan. <em>Pathetic</em>, <strong><em>weak</em></strong> … sobbing like a <em>baby</em>, pushing his face into his hands, willing himself to hide in the withering <strong>mess</strong> of his own tears.</p><p>Even in this <em>new</em> body, he can still feel the <strong>weight</strong> of his broken bones, the <em>numbness</em> from freezing, and the agony from his <strong>throttled</strong> and <em>used</em> flesh …</p><p>Abuse is part of his make-up, part of his <em>mind</em>—<strong><em>demeanor</em></strong>.</p><p>He’s a fucking <strong>sponge</strong> of abuse and <strong>shame</strong>.</p><p>Death and <em>agony</em>.</p><p>Hyperventilating to the point that he’s physically <strong><em>unable</em></strong> to breathe, Stan’s, arms are suddenly <em>around</em> him.</p><p>“W-Whoa, whoa! <em>Dude</em>, what’s wrong? I’ve <strong>got</strong> you … I’ve <strong><em>got</em></strong> <strong><em>you</em></strong>, Man!” Stan discards his <strong>joint</strong> on the nightstand, and promptly pulls Kenny in, until they’re as <strong>close</strong> as two boys can be.</p><p>Snot and tears, make their way down Kenny’s <em>flush</em> cheeks and face, but Stan doesn’t seem to notice or <strong>care</strong> about that. He doesn’t <em>mind</em> that he’s being coated in Kenny’s germs.</p><p>“Kenny?” <strong>Talk</strong> to me … Please … You’re <em>scaring</em> me right now …” Stan whimpers in a panicky voice.</p><p>It’s several seconds before Kenny can <strong>compose</strong> himself enough to form words and when he does, he only says, “J-Just <em>don’t</em> call me, t-that …”</p><p>It’s so <em>irrational</em> and <strong>embarrassing</strong> to break down like this … but he’s seen Stan in this state a <em>million</em> times, before. Kenny has always had to be the <em>calm</em>, <strong>collected</strong> one, and he’s finally lost the <em>wherewithal</em> to do so.</p><p>“Okay, Kenny, I <em>won’t</em> …” Stan reassures him.</p><p>When Kenny is finally able to <strong>pull</strong> himself together and retract from the comforting embrace, he wipes his remaining tears and looks a <strong>concerned</strong> Stan in the eye.</p><p>Now that the hysterics have subsided (<em>mostly</em>) the crawling of his skin resumes, <em>ten-fold</em>, under his clothes.</p><p>“I try to <strong><em>fix</em></strong> things, Stan,” Kenny admits, defeat in his tone, “but all I ever do is fuck it even <em>worse</em> than it was <strong>before</strong>.”</p><p>“If this is about what happened <em>last month</em> …” Stan trails off with a thick swallow and a guilty expression on his face.</p><p>Kenny rubs up and down the length of one of his arms, trying to keep himself in <strong><em>this</em></strong> moment. Ignoring the continuing <em>flashes</em> of his trauma the best he can.</p><p>“Do you really think of me as <em>just</em> a hole to stick it in? No different than a <strong>sex</strong> doll? <em>Inanimate</em> … <strong><em>unlovable</em></strong><em>?”</em> the question spills out before Kenny can think about the consequences of bringing this back up, <strong><em>again</em></strong>.</p><p>But Stan brought it up, <strong><em>first</em></strong> … <em>last month …</em></p><p>Kenny can see <strong>real</strong> pain written across Stan’s expression, and one of his fingers seems to mindlessly swing down to pick the thin <em>scabs</em> on his forearm.</p><p>“I <em>never</em> called you a <strong><em>hole</em></strong>, Kenny,” Stan breathes, with a furrow in his brow.</p><p>Kenny’s mind drifts to last night, to the <strong>humiliation</strong> of being helpless—verbally and <em>physically</em> lashed with sharp, <strong>icy</strong> words. His skin feels so <strong><em>gross</em></strong> …</p><p>“It’s not, <strong><em>love</em></strong>, you said. So, what <em>is</em> it, then, Stan? What is it I give <strong>you</strong> when I surrender <strong><em>my</em></strong> body?” the questions are as much about Kenny’s <strong><em>self-worth</em></strong> as they are about this <em>twisted</em>, habitual thing that’s lived between them, spanning their most <em>crucial,</em> <strong>formative</strong> years.</p><p>Stan lifts his joint back up and takes a drag, his eyes narrow with <em>seeming</em> confusion.</p><p>“It’s <strong>mutual</strong> gratification. <em>Pleasure</em> and <strong>release</strong>,” Stan explains, cautiously. “It’s <em>friendship</em>, Kenny. <strong><em>Our</em></strong> kind of <em>friendship</em> …”</p><p>Wetting his lips, Kenny, lowers his gaze to his hands, squeezing them together until they’re <em>white</em> instead of pink.</p><p><em>“Friendship …” </em>Kenny repeats, wiping his eyes as they leak from the corners.</p><p>“Why are you asking me all of this, <em>now?</em> Why haven’t you come to patch things up for the last <em>month?</em> Huh?” Stan pries. “I mean, you’ve been downright <em>radio</em> <em>silencing</em> me for weeks, now you show up at my house looking like something <strong><em>broken</em></strong> … and ask me such <strong>conflicting</strong> questions …”</p><p>Kenny fishes in his pocket and yanks out his cellphone, determined to be <strong><em>heard</em></strong> this time. He needs Stan to <strong>understand</strong> what <strong><em>he</em></strong> goes through.</p><p>“You took what little bit of <strong>pride</strong> and <em>hope</em> I had last month and you <em>crushed</em> it, Stan. Can you <strong><em>understand</em></strong> that?” Kenny whispers, feebly, still dabbing at his falling tears. “You made me <em>worthless</em>, used me because it suited <strong><em>you</em></strong>, like <strong>always</strong>, and tossed me <strong>away</strong> like <em>garbage</em> …”</p><p>Stan puffs on his joint and crinkles the corners of his mouth, astutely. “I <em>called</em> you and tried to make you come <strong>back</strong>, you never <strong><em>did</em></strong>,” Stan admonishes his words with an incline of his head.</p><p>Kenny sighs.</p><p>“I walked into the <em>duck pond</em>, froze to <strong>death</strong> … I needed to <em>start</em> over. I wanted to be <strong><em>numb</em></strong>, Stan.”</p><p>Stan’s jaw drops and his fingers rush to put out the joint on his table, leaving it <em>forgotten</em> on top.</p><p>“You <em>died?!”</em> Stan presses, horror written into his eyes.</p><p>Kenny extends his cell phone and <em>plays</em> Stan his message. The one where he spoke about Kenny’s funeral.</p><p>Stan can only <em>glimpse</em> at the phone, and Kenny notes the dour expression on his face. The <em>shock</em> and <strong>realization</strong>, there.</p><p>“I … I left you <strong>that</strong> message …?” Stan counters in disbelief.</p><p>“Yeah, and I only just returned, <em>today</em>. Whatever memories you have of me <strong>aren’t</strong> real … I haven’t <strong><em>been</em></strong> here.”</p><p>Stan swipes his fingers through his strands of hair, a <em>troubled</em> expression formulating on his face.</p><p>“I need a fucking <strong>drink</strong>, Dude,” Stan mutters and clamors off his bed, sifting through his dresser drawers until he finds a half-empty bottle of <em>vodka</em>, tucked inside.</p><p>Kenny watches in dismay, as Stan takes down several <strong>gulps</strong> of the bitter liquid <strong><em>poison</em></strong>. He repockets his phone, realizing in this moment that this exchange is going to end in <strong>tears</strong>—<em>for him</em>—<strong><em>again</em></strong>.</p><p>But the harshly delved scars on Stan’s arms are what keeps him <strong>here</strong>. He’s reluctant to do what his body and mind tells him, so instead of getting up and heading out the door, he <strong><em>stays</em></strong>.</p><p><em>Like</em> <em>always …</em></p><p>“Is that <strong><em>all</em></strong> you have to say?” Kenny finally asks him, <strong>wilting</strong> in utter defeat.</p><p>Stan <em>finishes</em> his liquid <strong><em>escape</em></strong>, tucks the bottle <em>back</em> away, and crashes down on his <strong>mattress</strong> in a heap.</p><p>“What do you <em>want</em> me to say?” Stan asks, after a few seconds of complete silence.</p><p>Kenny’s <strong><em>stomach</em></strong> turns over.</p><p>“I don’t fucking <strong><em>know</em></strong>, Man. Just … <em>something?</em> <strong><em>Anything</em></strong><em>?” </em></p><p>Everything feels <em>so</em> fucked up right now and Kenny doesn’t know what he <strong>wants</strong> out of Stan.</p><p>Not <em>really.</em></p><p>He wants to kiss him, but he also wants to <strong>punch</strong> him in the face. He wants to be <em>held</em>, but he <strong><em>doesn’t</em></strong>, simultaneously.</p><p>He wants the <strong>whole</strong> world and he wants <strong><em>nothing</em></strong> at all.</p><p>Stan doesn’t respond, and his nails begin to <strong>pick</strong> at the scabs on his <em>arm</em>, again. Absent-like … almost <strong><em>habitually</em></strong>.</p><p>With a <strong>frustrated</strong> sigh, Kenny, scoots across the bed and lays down next to Stan. He <em>lifts</em> one of his arms and pulls Stan’s <strong>scratching</strong> nails away from his scabs.</p><p>“Did you take her <em>back?”</em> Kenny whispers, brushing his thumb over the scabs lightly.</p><p>Stan’s eyes <em>falter</em> and he wets his lips with his tongue.</p><p>“What do <strong>you</strong> think?” he finally whispers, after a few minutes of <em>wordless,</em> <strong>contemplative</strong> staring.</p><p>Kenny releases the tiniest of sighs and ignores the way his heart <strong>shatters</strong> at the <em>expected news.</em></p><p>This isn’t <em>about</em> him. Of <strong><em>course</em></strong>, it <em>isn’t</em>.</p><p>“I think she doesn’t fucking <strong>deserve</strong> you, Dude,” Kenny insists, his thumb <em>dipping</em> down to trace Stan’s <strong>bony</strong> wrist.</p><p>When Stan glances away from him and locks his jaw with aggravation, Kenny, <strong>speaks</strong> up some more.</p><p>“I think part of you will <strong>never</strong> quit feeling the way I <em>know</em> you do, when its just the <em>two</em> of us …” Kenny releases his hold on Stan’s wrist and drags his fingers <strong>lower</strong>, until they slide with calculated <strong>ease</strong> under the waistband of Stan’s boxers to wrap him up in the warmth of his palm, trapping his <em>cock</em> in place. “I think <strong>part</strong> of you, <strong><em>Stan</em></strong>, will <em>always</em> belong to the dark. To the shadows you <strong>claim</strong> aren’t real …”</p><p>Kenny feels <em>bold</em> all of the sudden, and he finds that boldness in Stan’s conflicted eyes. It’s <strong>impossible</strong> to describe, but he is certain that Stan is <em>lying</em> to them <strong>both</strong>, now.</p><p>The look he <strong>sees</strong> … it’s <em>prickly</em>—it’s <em>carnal</em>—and Stan is lost and open like a <strong>wound</strong>.</p><p>Kenny <em>knows</em> that feeling, he’s lost and <strong>open</strong> right now.</p><p>And he’s still trapped in a <em>clusterfuck</em> of memories. Memories and flashes he <strong>yearns</strong> to forget.</p><p>Just his <em>instinctual</em> touch has Stan grinding his hips, parting his petals, and <em>singing</em> out moans.</p><p>“Y-Yeah? And what about <em>you</em>, Kenny?” Stan keens out, with crossed vision, which makes Kenny surge with <strong>burning</strong> need of his own. He cants his hips forward, allowing Stan to feel the bunt of his <em>excitement</em> through their clothes.</p><p>Kenny builds up the courage and tucks his spare hand against Stan’s soft cheek, <strong>brushing</strong> the flesh.</p><p>“I can’t keep <em>falling</em> this way …” he admits, trying to coordinate his <strong>swiveling</strong> thoughts, “… but I can’t <em>seem</em> to stop.”</p><p>Stan lets out a growl and <strong>clashes</strong> his lips with Kenny’s, using his superior strength and slightly taller stature to push Kenny back into the mattress and <em>clamor</em> on top of him.</p><p>Kenny’s hand still strokes along the bulk of Stan’s boyhood, feeling the <strong>pulsation</strong> of the rod, and the leakage from the pearly tip, spew out against his fingers in little dribbles.</p><p>The sudden <em>change</em> in their positions, has Kenny’s stomach beginning to lodge and turn with rancor and knots. There is always a dominance shift and, Kenny, <strong>always</strong> loses in that regard.</p><p>Stan has never <strong><em>played</em></strong> the girl—<strong><em>never.</em></strong></p><p>Kevin’s words play again in his mind, like a fucking broken-record that <em>swirls</em> and <strong>scratches</strong>. Kenny tries to stifle them, but every kiss and breath—and push of <strong>Stan’s</strong> solid hips, are making them louder.</p><p><em>Louder and louder</em>—<strong>over</strong> <em>and</em> <strong><em>over</em></strong> they <em>sound …</em></p><p>Kenny retracts his hand from Stan’s boxers, and use the second Stan takes to regain his <strong>composure</strong> to push against his chest and throw him off balance.</p><p>Sitting up, Kenny, feels his <em>chest</em> tighten and panicky breaths ensue.</p><p>This <strong>isn’t</strong> right … <strong><em>He</em></strong> isn’t right …</p><p>Tears streak down his <em>cheeks</em> and he gasps and shivers, like a stunned <em>rabbit</em>.</p><p>“Dude? What’s <em>wrong?” </em>Stan reaches for his cheek, but Kenny ducks away from the touch, skin <strong>suddenly</strong> crawling.</p><p><em>“I … I</em> <em>c-can’t</em> <em>…”</em> Kenny sobs, finally coming to the realization that he can’t be a rock anymore. He can’t just <em>bounce</em> back and pretend he’s <strong>not</strong> in agony.</p><p>“Can’t <em>what?”</em> Stan asks carefully, between distinct <strong>aroused</strong> breaths.</p><p>Kenny wipes his tears, frantically, then wraps his arms around himself in a hug. Pains ignite like <em>fireworks</em> in his chest and he closes his eyes, shakily. He’s <strong>mildly</strong> disgusted that his cock is still rock-solid in his trousers, <em>even <strong>now</strong>.</em></p><p>“I’m a fucking train wreck, S-Stan! I … I am <em>disgusting!</em> <strong>Filthy</strong>! And I c-can’t … I can’t be your, <em>W-Wendy</em>, anymore … I can’t be <strong>pinned</strong> down and … and <strong><em>taken</em></strong> like that …” he forces out the words, flashes replaying in his mind of all the times he’s allowed his best friend to have him <strong><em>that</em></strong> way.</p><p>So <strong><em>many</em></strong> times …</p><p>Stan swallows and <em>nods</em> his head.</p><p>“Then why did you <strong>kiss</strong> me? Huh? <em>You</em> stuck <strong>your</strong> hand down <strong><em>my</em></strong> pants, <em>remember?”</em> Stan grumbles in frustration.</p><p>“I know … I’m <strong>sorry</strong> …” Kenny acknowledges with a <em>burn</em> in his pitted-out stomach.</p><p>“Fucking hell, Kenny. This is all <strong>so</strong> fucked. Do you fucking <strong><em>get</em></strong> that? We never should have started <em>touching</em> each other. I have Wendy and <strong><em>you</em></strong> have a hand. You can take care of your cock <strong><em>yourself</em></strong> …” Stan trails off and rubs the side of his face.</p><p>Kenny stares at Stan evenly, trying to comprehend what he is saying to him. Stan’s words sting, <strong><em>big time</em></strong>.</p><p>Kenny blinks back ferocious tears. “So, I am just a <em>hole</em> to you, then … a <strong><em>convenience</em></strong> …”</p><p>Stan stares back at him. “You know <strong><em>what</em></strong><em>?</em> Sure, Kenny. That’s what you <em>are</em> to me. A <strong>fucking</strong> hole!” he snaps. “You’re an <strong><em>easy</em></strong> fuck, but you’re <strong><em>far</em></strong> from a fucking convenience! <em>Happy?”</em></p><p>Kenny feels his stomach twirl with <strong>disgust</strong> and hatred all of the sudden and he stands from the <strong>bed</strong> and straightens his clothes.</p><p><em>“Fuck</em> <strong><em>you</em></strong>, Stan!” he hisses.</p><p>“Run away, Kenny, that’s what you’re <strong>good</strong> at, isn’t it? Running like <em>hell?</em> Gonna go walk into the <strong><em>duck pond</em></strong>, again?” Stan taunts and Kenny halts with his parka just pulled on over his shoulders.</p><p><em>“<strong>What</strong>?”</em> He can’t believe what Stan just said to him.</p><p>He can’t believe that his best friend is actually saying these things—these <strong>horrible</strong>, <em>awful</em> things …</p><p>“You <strong>heard</strong> me!” Stan hisses back. “That’s what you’ll <em>do</em>, isn’t it? Abandon me for <strong>another</strong> month, then show up here when you <em>rejuvenate</em> and feel a little like being a fucking <em>tease?”</em></p><p>Kenny zips up his parka and stares at Stan with a <strong>wounded</strong>, hurt stare.</p><p>“You’d like that, <em>wouldn’t you?”</em> Kenny finally relents, wiping his eyes some more.</p><p>Stan laughs—<em>actually <strong>fucking</strong> laughs</em>—and lays back on his bed, with his fingers locked behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.</p><p>“Maybe I <em>would</em>,” Stan shrugs, “it’s <em>better</em> than dealing with <strong>whatever</strong> the fuck this is, Dude.”</p><p>Kenny’s heart wrenches and he swallows the thickness in his throat. “This is <strong><em>over</em></strong>, Stan. It’s <em>just</em> <strong><em>over</em></strong><em>.</em> That’s <strong>all</strong> this is,” he breathes out, with a finality to his words, and without so much as looking back, he walks <em>right</em> out the door, down the stairs, and out the <strong>front</strong>, ignoring Randy on the couch as he goes.</p><p>Back to <strong>Karen</strong>—back to <strong><em>safety</em></strong>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <i> I hope you are enjoying this so far, Lovelies! Let me know in the comment section below! I love hearing from my readers! Leave Kudos if you enjoyed! </i>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Part three; first loves & replications.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>So, it’s true when all is said and done</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Grief is the price we </em>
    <em>pay for love.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Part three; first loves &amp; replications.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> v. </em>
  <em>starts &amp; innocence.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>seven years ago.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Kenny doesn’t really think <em>much</em> when he gets the call in the <strong>middle</strong> of the night.</p><p>Stan’s tears are enough to <em>sway</em> his thoughts about staying home. Three-year-old, <em>Karen</em>, is already fast asleep in <strong><em>his</em></strong> bed, safely tucked underneath the covers and their <em>parents</em> are having their usual screaming match in the <strong>living</strong> room, Kevin, smack-dab in the <em>middle</em>.</p><p>Kenny can <em>hear</em> them—they don’t even <strong>acknowledge</strong> the phone that rings and Kenny answers—he doubts they even <em>heard</em> it, at all.</p><p>Stan sounds <strong>distressed</strong> and it’s ten o’clock at night.</p><p>Kenny, is the <em>only</em> one of the, <em>gang</em>, that would still be up (and Stan <strong>knows</strong> that) because of his <em>shitty</em> home life.</p><p>Kenny promises to be <em>right</em> over, just as soon as he can walk over there.</p><p>He plants a soft kiss to Karen’s <em>forehead</em>, makes certain that her stuffed doll is <strong>tucked</strong> under her arm, and double checks his bedroom locks one <em>final</em> time, before he climbs out his bedroom window into the <strong>icy</strong> night.</p><p>The windchill is <strong>high</strong> and he thanks his stars for his extremely <em>warm</em>, red parka for keeping him safe from the chill.</p><p>It takes him a few minutes to <strong>arrive</strong> at Stan’s, and he scales the side of the house, climbing up to Stan’s <em>window</em>, he crawls inside and lands on the floor, with a low <em>‘thunk.’</em></p><p><em>“Kenny.</em> You <strong>came</strong> …” Stan whispers with a little sniffle, wiping his nose on his nightshirt sleeve.</p><p>“Of <em>course</em>, Dude,” Kenny sheds his parka and climbs up on the bed, looking over Stan with <strong>careful</strong> scrutiny.</p><p>He takes in the appearance of <em>several</em> bruises that have formed on Stan’s face. He has a black eye, and <strong>bruised</strong> cheeks. Worst of all is the state of Stan’s <em>arm</em>.</p><p>His wrist is <strong>swollen</strong> and arm red and sore to the touch.</p><p>“What the <em>fuck</em> happened, Dude?” Kenny asks, not really thinking twice about swearing in front of his best friend. His parents do it <em>all</em> the time and it’s not a big deal.</p><p>“S-Shelly … s-she <strong>beat</strong> me up …” Stan lowers his eyes in shame.</p><p>Kenny feels his gut <em>squeeze</em> a few times and he pictures Stan’s sister pummeling him into the ground. It’s <em>not</em> a pretty sight. She’s always been <strong>mean</strong> and <em>nasty</em>, at the <strong><em>best</em></strong> of times.</p><p>“Shit, Man. <em>Seriously?”</em></p><p>Stan nods, through a sniffle, still <em>reluctant</em> to meet his eye and Kenny realizes Stan must think he’s going to make <strong>fun</strong> of him for this.</p><p>“It must <em>hurt</em>, a lot, Dude … I’m <em>sorry …”</em> Kenny says instead, and Stan finally meets his eye in surprise.</p><p>“I-It <em>does</em> <em>…”</em> Stan sniffles and Kenny takes his hand, gently <strong>massaging</strong> the skin on his wrist, the same way he does for Karen when she’s got a stomach ache.</p><p>Stan makes <em>tiny</em> little noises of contentment and visually begins to relax, as the pain <strong>eases</strong> somewhat.</p><p>“How long has she been <em>doing</em> this, Stan?” Kenny asks, curiously, trying to <em>distract</em> him a bit.</p><p>Stan makes a little noise as Kenny massages a particularly tender spot, but answers anyway. “As long as I can <em>remember</em>,” he admits in his high-pitched voice.</p><p>Kenny’s heart stabs with sympathy and he decides to share <em>something</em> with Stan—something he <em>never</em> told Eric or Kyle.</p><p>“My dad hurts <strong><em>me</em></strong>, too, <em>sometimes</em>. It’s easy to hide under my parka and pants, but … there are <em>always</em> bruises.” It’s a lot to trust Stan with, but Kenny feels like its <strong>appropriate</strong> in the moment.</p><p>They’re <strong><em>best</em></strong> friends, after all. And he trusts him way more than he’ll <em>ever</em> trust Eric or Kyle.</p><p>Stan’s eyes go wide and his mouth turns <em>down</em> with a little frown. “<strong>Shit</strong>, that’s <em>weak</em>, Dude,” Stan admits.</p><p>“Yeah, it <strong><em>sucks</em></strong><em>,”</em> Kenny agrees and stops massaging when Stan pulls in a deep breath in <strong>pain</strong>. “I think I found a way to make it <em>better</em> though.”</p><p>Stan lowers his arm and cocks his head to the side. “What’s that?”</p><p>Kenny feels his stomach turn a little, because he doesn’t know if he <em>should</em> be showing Stan any of this, but decides in the moment that he’s already told him one of his <strong>deepest</strong>, <strong><em>darkest</em></strong> secrets, so next to that, he can’t think of anything being <em>much</em> worse.</p><p>“If I <em>show</em> you … you can’t tell <em>anyone</em>, okay? Not <strong>even</strong> Kyle and <em>especially</em> not Eric …”</p><p>That peaks Stan’s interest and he sits up, wide-eyed and filled with curiosity.</p><p>“Dude, it’s <em>me</em> <em>…</em> I don’t give a <strong><em>crap</em></strong> about Eric!” Stan defends, with a slanted smile on his face.</p><p>“Yeah, but you can’t tell <em>Kyle</em>, either …” Kenny reiterates.</p><p>Stan shrugs, “It can be <em>our</em> secret, Ken. <em>Promise.”</em></p><p>Kenny chews on his bottom lip, but finally decides to <strong>trust</strong> Stan. Kenny scoots in a little closer until their <em>knees</em> touch, leaving their faces inches apart. Then, with timid, careful movements, Kenny, leans toward Stan and <em>crushes</em> their lips together.</p><p>It’s gentle and <strong>unpracticed</strong>, but it sends warm, bubbly feelings into Kenny’s stomach. Lifting one of his hands, Kenny, cups Stan’s cheek and works his <em>lips</em> against Stan’s <strong>stiff</strong> ones.</p><p>Stan’s rooted to the spot and possibly in <em>shock</em> from Kenny’s actions, but it doesn’t <strong>deter</strong> Kenny at all. He’s seen his parents interact this way a <em>million</em> times before. He’s watched his dad slip a hand down into his <strong>mother’s</strong> pants, watched them twine together in this strange way and <em>hump</em> like the stray cats in the alleys do. He’s seen <em>a lot.</em></p><p>Probably way more than he <strong>should</strong> have.</p><p>And he’s wanted to test out what he’s <em>seen</em> for weeks, but never had the <strong>opportunity</strong> before now.</p><p>Stan’s the <em>first</em> to pull back. Breathless and panting, his cheeks flooded with color and lips pink and swollen.</p><p>“What are you <strong><em>doing</em></strong>, Ken?” Stan’s voice is all whispers and trembles.</p><p>Kenny breathes in and out a few times and swallows for strength. “I’m making it <em>better</em>, Stan. Or <strong>trying</strong> to …” he laughs, a little uneasy and feels his own cheeks turning pink.</p><p>Stan lifts an eyebrow. “How is <em>kissing</em> gonna make it <strong><em>better</em></strong><em>?”</em></p><p>Kenny drops his hands from Stan’s cheek, and decides to show him a little bit more, unable to <em>explain</em> with words about the things he doesn’t quite know, or understand.</p><p>“Do you <strong>trust</strong> me?” Kenny asks him.</p><p>“Yeah, Dude. <em>Sure,”</em> Stan offers, with a shrug.</p><p>Kenny takes that as <em>approval</em> and continues to lower his hands, running them across Stan’s front, and uses his right hand to drag along the <strong>outside</strong> of Stan’s sleep pants.</p><p>He locates Stan’s boy-part <em>easily</em> enough and his thumb presses to the small mushroom-shaped <strong>nub</strong> at the top.</p><p>Kenny figured out from self-exploration that it can feel <em>heavenly</em> to touch himself there. Eventually a little explosion rockets through his body and <strong>relaxes</strong> him on all fronts.</p><p>It can dull even the most <em>exorbitant</em> of pain.</p><p>“So, <em>trust</em> me,” Kenny instructs, while easing his thumb around the area, gently.</p><p>Stan <em>must</em> start to feel it, then, because Kenny sees him start to move his hips and <strong>try</strong> to wiggle in closer, until their <em>fronts</em> are pressed together and Stan’s <strong>panting</strong> in his ear with <em>hot</em> breath tickling his skin.</p><p>“W-What is t-this?” Stan asks, clearly trying to get used to the strange sensation.</p><p>Kenny plants a kiss to his <em>cheek</em> in reassurance and nuzzles Stan’s neck, affectionally, with his nose.</p><p>“I don’t have a <strong>name</strong> for it, but I’ve touched my pee-pee a few times on my own and it <em>always</em> feels good …” he confesses still a little shy about this. “I figured it might feel <strong>better</strong> if someone else touched it for me. Sorta like Mom and Dad <em>touch</em> each other,” he explains.</p><p>“Your <strong>parents</strong> do this, Ken?” Stan pants, bucking his hips in time to Kenny’s thumb swirls, making jagged little breaths.</p><p>“<em>Sometimes</em>,” Kenny mentions. “And <strong><em>sometimes</em></strong> Dad sticks it in Mom. But they <em>always</em> kiss and moan and tell each other how <strong>good</strong> it feels.”</p><p>Stan latches on to Kenny’s shirt and pulls him in as close as they can possibly be. “It does … feel <em>good</em> …” Stan whimpers.</p><p>“Good enough to <strong>forget</strong> the pain?”</p><p>“Ungh-huh,” Stan supplies in way of answer and soon enough he’s the one that reconnects their lips in a steadfast slew of kisses.</p><p>It’s sloppy and inexperienced but it still manages to ignite these glorious sensations in Kenny’s belly.</p><p>Stan doesn’t <em>ask</em> to touch Kenny’s boy-part, he just <strong>goes</strong> for it. Pushing the bulk of his hand <em>flat</em> against Kenny’s crotch, driving the <em>heel</em> of his palm right down into the sensitive nub.</p><p>Kenny squeaks in his throat from the <em>unexpected</em> touch, and feels the nub flex and inflate. He works his <em>hips</em> against Stan’s touch and kisses him back in a <strong>frenzy</strong> of tongue and spit.</p><p>Their moans blend together and <em>fill</em> Stan’s bedroom. They work and touch each other, until Kenny can <strong>feel</strong> the pulsating throb that causes Stan’s back to stiffen and his moans to turn to groans of <em>pure</em> pleasure.</p><p>Stan’s peak sets off Kenny’s and pretty soon they’re <em>both</em> in bliss. Completely unable to <strong>stop</strong> their hip undulations and friction-seeking skin from <em>reacting</em> and they tumble back onto the sheets, muscles <strong>twinging</strong> in reflex.</p><p>When their lips break apart, Stan, <em>breathlessly</em> peers into Kenny’s eyes and chuckles slightly.</p><p>“That felt fucking <em>sweet</em>, Dude!” Stan breathes out, exhaustedly.</p><p>“Told ya,” Kenny teases through a smile.</p><p>Stan inches in closer, laying on his left side, so he <em>doesn’t</em> aggravate his hurt right wrist.</p><p>“Do you <em>think</em> <em>…</em> I <strong><em>mean</em></strong><em> …”</em> Stan eyes Kenny, then looks away.</p><p>Interest peaked, Kenny’s, lips <em>widen</em> in a smile. <em>“What?</em> Tell me.”</p><p>Stan chuckles a bit nervously. “Do you think, I mean … if you said your <em>parents</em> like … <strong>join</strong> somehow … that we could try <strong><em>that</em></strong>, too? It might feel even <em>better</em>. You <em>know?”</em></p><p>Kenny tilts his <em>head</em> to the side and chews on his bottom lip, coyly. He’s wondered about <strong>sticking</strong> his thing in a person, too. But, at the same time, he doesn’t know <em>anything</em> about whether it would work or <strong>not</strong> with two dudes.</p><p>“Can two boys even <strong><em>do</em></strong> that, do you <em>think?”</em> Kenny asks and Stan ponders it slowly.</p><p>“We have <em>holes</em>, don’t we?” Stan deduces.</p><p>“Yeah, I <em>suppose.”</em> Kenny never thought about it like <strong>that</strong>. “So, who … who plays the <em>girl?</em> The <em>wife …”</em></p><p>Stan links his small fingers with Kenny’s and plays with the digits, <strong><em>aimlessly</em></strong>.</p><p>“You’re <em>smaller</em>, kind of <strong>petite</strong> … and you have small <em>hands,”</em> Stan observes, “maybe <strong>you</strong> could be? The <strong>girl</strong>, I mean?”</p><p>Kenny’s blushes furiously and feels his <em>stomach</em> twist a bit. He is shorter than Stan by a few inches, which isn’t saying <strong>much</strong> since they’re <em>six</em>. But his skin <strong><em>is</em></strong> soft, while Stan’s hands <em>are</em> a bit rougher.</p><p>It’s a <strong>silly</strong> thing to go off of, but maybe it’s also kind of <em>true</em>.</p><p>“Okay, <em>sure</em> … next time, we’ll <em>try</em> it,” Kenny relents, simply wanting to make, <strong>Stan</strong>, <em>happy</em>.</p><p>It seems to work, because Stan <em>smiles</em> and pulls him into a hug. “You’re the <em>best</em>, Ken!” Stan kisses his cheek and Kenny <strong>blushes</strong>, returning the hug.</p><p>“I don’t know about <em>that …”</em></p><p>“You <strong>are</strong>, Dude! You <em>totally</em> are, and I promise, I’m never gonna stop <em>being</em> your best friend. This makes us closer than we are with Kyle and Eric. <strong>Special</strong>. We’re special friends from here on out, Kenny, <em>okay?”</em> Stan enthuses.</p><p>Kenny likes the sound of being a special friend, whatever <strong><em>that</em></strong> means.</p><p>“You <em>promise?”</em> Kenny asks hopefully.</p><p><em>“<strong>Promise</strong></em>. This will be <strong>our</strong> secret—and ours <em>alone</em>. <strong><em>Forever.</em></strong> Nothing, and no one is <strong><em>ever</em></strong> going to take it away.”</p><p>And for the first time, Kenny, feels <strong>truly</strong> blissful.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>vi. angels &amp; guardians</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>three years later.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Kenny can hear the sound of <em>gentle</em> sobs from down the hallway. He doesn’t have to go explore in order to figure out <strong>where</strong> the noise is coming from.</p><p>The noise is coming from Karen and Kevin’s room.</p><p>Kenny can withstand pain—<em>pain is easy</em>—but the tears of his little <em>sister?</em> That he <em>can’t</em> withstand.</p><p>There’s just something in her <em>cherubic</em> cheeks and <strong>melty</strong> eyes that has him, <em>swoop</em> in to dry them, every time.</p><p>She’s his sweet spot and his <strong><em>whole</em></strong> damn heart—and it’s not <em>really</em> a secret that when his mother was pregnant with her, Kenny, never <strong>wanted</strong> Karen to be born.</p><p>It wasn’t because that tiny new bundle would be a <em>nuisance</em>, or because she’d eat <strong>precious</strong> little food they had already, but because he knew the <strong><em>fate</em></strong> of existing in poverty—<em>in <strong>this</strong> fucking house</em>—and he wouldn’t wish it on <strong>anyone</strong> else. <em>Ever</em>.</p><p>Least of all this little, <em>precious</em> flower.</p><p>So, without even <strong><em>thinking</em></strong> about it, Kenny, changes into his Mysterion suit, and <em>climbs</em> out his bedroom window.</p><p>Kevin isn’t <em>home</em> tonight, or most nights for that matter, so its down to <strong>him</strong> to keep Karen safe and happy. And he wouldn’t have it <em>any</em> other way.</p><p>He started wearing this disguise as a bid to <em>control</em> his parents, but now it’s also a way for him to <strong><em>comfort</em></strong>, Karen, and show her that there will always be <em>someone</em> that loves her, dearly. Even if she has no inkling, that that <em>someone</em>—is <strong><em>him</em></strong>.</p><p>Kenny peers inside her window, before clamoring up onto the sill, and stepping inside.</p><p>Surveying, Karen, he takes in the <em>sight</em> of her clutching the doll he bought her, tight to her chest, while her knees are drawn up to her chest, and she sniffles, noticing him.</p><p><em>“Angel?”</em> she gasps in her most hopeful-sounding voice.</p><p>He comes closer and settles at the side of her bed. “What’s the <em>matter</em>, Karen?”</p><p>She rubs her nose on her arm, and sniffles again.</p><p>“I’m just so <strong>hungry</strong>, Guardian Angel …” she simpers and his heart threatens to <em>snap</em> in half.</p><p><em>“W-What?”</em> he almost <strong><em>forgets</em></strong> to disguise his voice; he’s taken off guard.</p><p>Considering his <strong>own</strong> stomach is grumbling from lack of food, he really <em>shouldn’t</em> be so surprised, though. It just hurts to realize she’s <em>literally</em> starving with hunger. The family has eaten <em>pittance</em> the last couple nights, and money <strong>has</strong> been tighter than usual.</p><p>Kenny was fortunate enough to eat at <em>Stan’s</em> house, earlier tonight. Immediate guilt creeps under his skin as he realizes it’s the <strong>first</strong> time that he can remember actually <em>forgetting</em> to make sure his little sister ate enough.</p><p>“My <em>tummy</em> hurts … a lot …” she elaborates and Kenny struggles to hold back in his <strong>own</strong> tears.</p><p>Fishing into his pocket, Kenny, pulls out a <em>single</em> Twinkie that he swiped from Stan’s kitchen earlier. He’s given Karen snacks he’d swiped before, but never under <strong>these</strong> circumstances. He’s always made sure that she <em>doesn’t</em> go hungry.</p><p><strong><em>Always</em></strong>.</p><p>Today, he <em>failed</em> her …</p><p>Her little eyes go <strong>wide</strong> and she gasps with shock. “Is that … for <em>me?</em> <strong>Really</strong>?” Karen’s face lights up and her puffy eyes brighten.</p><p>Kenny nods his head and extends it towards her. “It’s just <em>yours</em>, Karen.”</p><p>She takes it, <strong>disbelievingly</strong>, and turns it over a few times, before opening the package and wolfing it down in a few grateful bites.</p><p>“Thank you, <em>Angel! </em>You’re the <strong><em>best</em></strong><em>!”</em> she hums and leaps into his lap and nuzzles her face into his covered neck.</p><p>“I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were going <em>without</em>, Karen,” Mysterion whispers, in his <strong>usual</strong> rasp.</p><p>She shivers and draws back to glance at him, <em>through</em> tears. “Well … it <em>still</em> hurts, but <strong>you’re</strong> here, Angel. And it’s not <em>your</em> fault.”</p><p>Kenny feels his stomach heave a <strong>second</strong> time and bites back <em>further</em> guilt, as he grapples with what he can do to <strong>fix</strong> this predicament.</p><p>“Your tummy still <em>hurts?”</em> he puzzles out, slowly.</p><p>“Yeah, but I don’t <em>mind</em>, because I have you, <em>now</em> … You always make <strong>everything</strong> better, Angel. That is … if you <em>stay</em>. You will stay? <em>Won’t</em> <em>you?”</em></p><p>He hates just how wrong she <em>is</em> about that, but he doesn’t <strong>correct</strong> her, and he doesn’t <em>answer</em> her, verbally.</p><p>Instead, he lays down on her bed and turns her <strong>around</strong> so that her back is tucked against his front, effectively playing the role of the <em>big</em> spoon for her.</p><p>His arm snakes around her middle and chin rests <em>idly</em> on her shoulder. With gentle little caresses, he attempts to <strong>soothe</strong> her rumbling belly with <em>little</em> circles.</p><p>It’s the first time he’s <em>ever</em> been this close to her as Mysterion. He tries to keep his distance <strong>most</strong> of the time, letting the <em>illusion</em> of his identity <em>stay</em> a secret—and he prays that she <strong>won’t</strong> recognize him from his <em>scent</em> … or his <strong>touch</strong> … or <strong><em>any</em></strong> part of him, really.</p><p>He doesn’t know how much Karen <em>knows</em> about the <strong><em>real</em></strong> him, ordinarily. He’s always been a <strong>warm</strong>, gentle presence when it comes to, <em>Karen</em>, but he’s tried to keep himself <em>(Kenny) </em>separate from, Mysterion, action <em>and</em> personality wise.</p><p>He does, however, show her <em>kindness</em> in both of his personas. He gifted her the floppy doll she clings to at night, as his <strong><em>true</em></strong> <em>self</em>, after all.</p><p>Mysterion sneaks her <em>bits</em> of food, or uses his words to <strong>inspire</strong> her. At least, he <em>hopes</em> he does, anyway.</p><p>Most physical actions are strictly left <strong><em>out</em></strong> of it … but <em>tonight</em>, it’s the first night he’s <em>agreed</em> to stay.</p><p>To <strong><em>hold</em></strong> her.</p><p>It will just be the <em>two</em> of them, after all is said and done.</p><p>Kevin won’t be <em>home</em>; it doesn’t take a <strong>genius</strong> to figure that out. He’s probably off with one of his <em>school</em> friends, or something.</p><p>Karen snuggles back into him, <em>comfortably</em>, and Kenny struggles <strong>not</strong> to stiffen his back. He loosens his muscles instead and begins to <em>calmly</em> trace circles around Karen’s belly.</p><p>She gasps and makes a little <strong>sigh</strong> of contentment, when his fingers <em>work</em> underneath her nightshirt, brushing the skin there—easing her muscles and <strong>trying</strong> to ease even a portion of the pain.</p><p>He <em>would</em> steal her a snack from the kitchen if they <strong>had</strong> anything <strong><em>to</em></strong> steal.</p><p>Their pantry was <em>empty</em> and so was the fridge. There wasn’t a <em>single</em> solitary <strong>thing</strong> he could swipe for her. He’d checked when he came <em>home</em> a few hours ago.</p><p>He can hear the <em>grumble</em> from her tummy and refrains from thinking about the <strong>emptiness</strong> of his own, while trying to think of some way of remedying her pain—nullifying it, even a <strong><em>smidge</em></strong>.</p><p>“Does it <em>hurt</em> a lot, Karen?” he whispers in his gruff tone, trying to ascertain the damage.</p><p>She swallows and closes her eyes, <em>breathing</em> around a sigh.</p><p>“I’ll be <strong>alright</strong>, Angel,” she answers, cryptically.</p><p>He knows it must be worse than she’s letting on and that makes it <strong><em>all</em></strong> worse, by a mile.</p><p>Kenny rubs clockwise circles into her <em>soft</em> skin, then switches it up and rubs <strong>counterclockwise</strong> ones, until she’s making little sighs and <em>whimpers</em> in her throat for him.</p><p>He knows his mind <em>shouldn’t</em> travel to the way <strong><em>Stan</em></strong> reacts to his touches right now, but it <em>does</em>. He can’t help but remember the very <em>first</em> time he touched, Stan, when his wrist was sprained and body <strong>exhausted</strong>.</p><p>He remembers how <em>effortless</em> it was to take his pain away—the <em>tears</em>—and how <em>good</em> it feels, every time they find solace in each other’s skin, even <strong><em>now</em></strong>.</p><p>Earlier tonight, Kenny, had laid <em>under</em> Stan while his best friend had kissed and rocked <strong><em>into</em></strong> him. They’d kissed and touched <strong><em>everywhere</em></strong> and Kenny had lost himself in the <em>pleasure</em> of it all.</p><p>The knowledge that he should <em>never</em> touch Karen in the same way he does Stan is <strong><em>obvious</em></strong>—but Karen doesn’t <strong><em>know</em></strong> that he’s her <em>brother</em> right now …</p><p>Mysterion is her <em>‘Guardian Angel’</em> and there is this sort of <em>romanticism</em> that goes with being her own <strong><em>personal</em></strong> superhero. He’s seen the way her eyes <em>light</em> <em>up</em>, whenever he enters <strong>this</strong> room.</p><p>If he <em>can’t</em> fix this—what <strong><em>good</em></strong> is he?</p><p>Kenny’s never <strong>touched</strong> a girl, before. There has only ever been <em>Stan</em> in that regard and that makes him a little nervous about <em>attempting</em> this. What if he screws it up? He’s only ever seen their <strong>parents</strong> do this … And not in <em>great</em> detail, come to that.</p><p>“Karen, do you <em>trust</em> me?” It’s a stupid question and he kicks himself for <strong>asking</strong> it.</p><p>“Mm, <em>yes</em>, Angel …” she mumbles, <em>sweetly</em>, through little jagged breaths of air.</p><p>“I <em>can’t</em> make the <strong>hunger</strong> go away, Karen. But I can try to <em>distract</em> you from it … Would you <em>like</em> that?” he asks, while still <strong>circling</strong> her stomach.</p><p>Karen nods her head. <em>“Ye</em>s, Angel … That would be <em>nice,”</em> she agrees and rubs his arm with one of her hands, <strong>reassuringly</strong>.</p><p>Mysterion swallows around a lump and nods his head, trying to <em>clear</em> it.</p><p>With a moment of <strong>hesitation</strong>, Kenny, stills his hand, then <em>eases</em> it downward. Pushing past the thin waistband of her sleep pants, Kenny, grazes his fingers over the <em>smooth</em> skin of her mound.</p><p>She’s all <em>heat</em> and <em>moistness</em> between her lower petals, and it gives him <strong>pause</strong>. Stan has always been <em>hard</em> and <strong><em>dry</em></strong>, until one of them uses <strong>spit</strong> to lube the skin, but Karen appears to <em>have</em> lubricant of her <strong><em>own</em></strong> down there.</p><p>It’s a <em>strange</em> sensation and he isn’t quite sure <strong>what</strong> to make of it.</p><p>Forcing himself to <em>focus</em>, Kenny, twirls his thumb around the <em>tiny</em> bundle of nerves at the top. She jerks and gasps, making a <strong>tiny</strong> little noise that causes his <strong><em>heart</em></strong> to speed up.</p><p>“A-Angel!” she gasps and he <em>stills</em> his hand, afraid he’s <strong>hurt</strong> her.</p><p>“Are you <em>okay, </em>Karen?” he asks, <em>uncertainty</em> filling his heart.</p><p>“Mhmm. Feels <strong><em>so</em></strong> good, Angel! <em>Please</em> don’t stop!” she wiggles her hips a few times, and he immediately <em>starts</em> back up. Reassured by the <strong><em>little</em></strong> noises she proceeds to make.</p><p>He’s moderately <strong>curious</strong> about her <em>wetness</em> and his other fingers explore the soaking-wet state of her folds. She’s <strong>quivering</strong> in his arms with every little touch he makes and after a few minutes of <em>feeling</em> her brushing against him, he realizes that, <em>he’s</em>, erect in his suit.</p><p>He didn’t mean to turn <em>himself</em> on, but the vision of her, <em>trembling</em> and gasping with flushed <em>pink</em> skin … it’s doing <em>quite</em> a <strong><em>number</em></strong> on him.</p><p>Without even <em>realizing</em> he’s doing it; his hips start to work <strong>against</strong> her from <em>behind</em>. The hard <strong>poke</strong> of him, must be digging into her back, but he doesn’t <em>think</em> about that—he can’t think of <strong>much</strong> right now—and instead keeps <em>brushing</em> her clit, while tentatively planting little <em>kisses</em> to the line of her neck.</p><p>She’s a writhing <strong><em>mess</em></strong> in his arms. Squirming, <strong><em>gasping</em></strong>, <em>moaning</em> <em>…</em></p><p>And <strong><em>then</em></strong> she’s coming apart—helping to send him <strong>careening</strong> over his <em>own</em> edge.</p><p>They cum in <strong>tandem</strong>, and he feels the wet-hot, <em>spurts</em> of seed <strong><em>spill</em></strong> into his suit, <em>wetting</em> the fabric, as Karen’s juices <em>coat</em> his fingers from her <strong>simultaneous</strong> release.</p><p>His fingers <em>still</em> in their movements and she <strong><em>gasps</em></strong> for air, coming down from her essential <em>high</em>—they <strong>both</strong> do.</p><p>“A-Angel, w-what <strong><em>was</em></strong> that?” she asks him, innocently and he slides his hand from her <em>sopping</em> panties, shakily.</p><p>“It <em>was …</em> a way to feel <strong><em>good</em></strong><em>,</em> Karen,” he tells her, <strong>earnestly</strong>. “But … you have to <em>promise</em> you won’t just let <strong><em>anyone</em></strong> touch you down there.”</p><p>She makes a little <em>simper,</em> followed by a moan. “Why <em>not?”</em></p><p>Kenny feels himself <strong>flush</strong> and is grateful that she can’t <em>see</em> him right now.</p><p><em>“Because,</em> Karen, it’s a place that <strong>only</strong> two people that <em>love</em> each other, should <strong>touch</strong>. It’s <em>special</em>.” He is well aware that he just <strong>shattered</strong> the rules, and he doesn’t know if she will <em>listen</em> to him or not—but he can’t <strong>fathom</strong> another boy touching her like <em>this</em>.</p><p>Even the <em>idea</em> is painful.</p><p>“You <strong><em>love</em></strong> me, Angel?” Karen whispers, clearly only getting <strong><em>that</em></strong> small tidbit out of what he <strong><em>just</em></strong> told her.</p><p>“Well … I … of <em>course</em> I do.” He stumbles over his words, trying to hold himself together.</p><p>He’s still <em>sticky</em> between his thighs from his orgasm and fuzzy-headed from being <em>so</em> high only <strong>moments</strong> ago.</p><p>“So only <strong><em>you’re</em></strong> allowed to <strong>touch</strong> me, then, Angel?”</p><p>His heart skips a beat. “Uh … <em>Well …”</em> he clears his throat and tries <strong>again</strong><em>, </em>“This was a <em>one-<strong>time</strong></em> thing, Karen. It’s meant for Mom’s and Dad’s, <em>not</em> us. I only helped you out <em>because …</em> because you <strong>needed</strong> a distraction.”</p><p>“So, if I need a distraction again you <em>won’t</em> help me, <strong>next</strong> time?” she asks carefully.</p><p><em>‘God Damn … this kid will be the death of him!’ </em>he thinks to himself.</p><p>“Well I didn’t say <strong><em>that</em></strong>. I mean … <strong><em>No,</em></strong> Karen. This was a <strong>one</strong>-time deal,” he finally feels he absolutely <strong><em>has</em></strong> to <strong>insist</strong>.</p><p><em>And then</em>—she begins to <strong><em>cry</em></strong>.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Fuck</em>
  </strong>
  <em>!</em>
</p><p>Tears streak down her cheeks and she <em>buries</em> her face into her pillow and sobs—<em>full-on sobs</em>—and he sits beside her, ramrod stiff with his <strong>mouth</strong> hanging open.</p><p>“Karen<em>. Come on</em>, <em>now</em>. Don’t <strong>cry</strong> …” he reaches down and brushes her hair, trying to <em>soothe</em> her somewhat.</p><p>“Y-You don’t <strong>understand</strong>, Angel …” Karen sobs harder and he just sits there, <em>patiently</em>, trying to keep himself from having a full-fledged <strong>meltdown</strong>, right along <strong>with</strong> her.</p><p><em>“What,</em> Karen? What <strong><em>don’t</em></strong> I understand, Sweetheart?” he whispers.</p><p>“How much I<strong> l-love </strong>you!” she hiccups and lifts her head to <em>look</em> into his eyes, tearfully.</p><p>Kenny’s heart <em>stops</em>—<em>right there</em>—deadlocked on <strong>her</strong>.</p><p><em>“W-What?”</em> he asks dumbly, trying to register what she could <em>possibly</em> <strong>mean</strong> by that.</p><p>“I … I <strong><em>love</em></strong> you, Angel. M-More than <em>anyone</em> … and I … I <strong>always</strong> thought … I <em>thought</em> … m-maybe <strong><em>you</em></strong> l-loved <strong>me</strong>, m-most … I know you p-probably help <strong><em>all</em></strong> the l-little girls, but … b-but I thought you <em>might</em> love me, m-most of <strong><em>all</em></strong> of them … It’s <em>selfish</em> … and f-foolish … but I <strong>thought</strong> we h-had this <em>special</em> c-connection …”</p><p>Kenny’s eyes <em>widen</em> underneath his mask and his <strong>jaw</strong> drops, wide. He realizes just <em>how</em> fucked-up this all has become. Inadvertently, by dressing up and <em>playing</em> superhero for his little sister, he’s become <strong><em>more</em></strong> than just someone she idolizes. That much is <strong><em>obvious</em></strong> to him now.</p><p>She’s <em>still</em> little … her heart still has time to <em>sway</em> away from his and dive <strong>towards</strong> someone else—some <em>healthier</em> choice—but he can tell she’s never going to forget about her <em>‘Guardian Angel,’</em> because he’s her <strong><em>first</em></strong> love.</p><p>She’s <em>six</em> … the same age <strong>he</strong> was, when his heart <strong><em>first</em></strong> inclined towards <em>Stan’s</em>. And his heart is three years older and <em>still</em> hopelessly tethered to Stan’s. Despite knowing that his best friend <strong><em>isn’t</em></strong> gay, but he’s <em>ruined</em> <em>(love-wise)</em> for most <em>everyone</em> else, now.</p><p><strong><em>Except</em></strong> little Karen.</p><p>He loves her <strong>more</strong> than he should.</p><p>And yet … if he does the <em>right</em> thing, if he ends this twisted, <strong>maniacally</strong> fucked-up mess of what he’d originally <em>intended</em> to be good will, she might, yet, still have a chance at normalcy.</p><p>Unlike him.</p><p>He’ll <strong><em>never</em></strong> be normal.</p><p>“Karen. We <em>do</em> have a special connection, of <strong><em>course</em></strong> we do. But … <em>Karen,” </em>he strokes a few tears away from her cheek with his thumb, “<strong>all</strong> little girls <em>grow up,</em> and they don’t <strong>need</strong> me anymore. Just like <em>Wendy</em> grew up and no longer needed <em>Peter Pan,”</em> he tries to explain in terms she <strong>might</strong> understand. “And <em>someday,</em> you’ll grow up, <strong>too</strong>, and you won’t need <strong><em>me</em></strong><em>,</em> either.”</p><p>Her eyes widen and she <em>shakes</em> her head, <strong>wildly</strong>, her hair <em>flouncing</em> down around her shoulders.</p><p>“No! I am <strong><em>always</em></strong> going to need you, Angel! I don’t <strong>want</strong> you to disappear like Peter Pan! I want you to <strong>stay</strong> here! I want you to <em>always</em> be here to protect me! You’re <strong><em>all</em></strong> I want … I don’t <strong><em>want</em></strong> someone else … I don’t want to end up like <em>Mom</em> with a man that <strong><em>hurts</em></strong> her … I want <em>you!</em> <strong>Just</strong> <em>you!</em> You <strong><em>never</em></strong> hurt me!”</p><p>Kenny can’t keep the spiral of <em>emotion</em> from his face, because he’s tried <strong>so</strong> damned hard to keep her <em>shielded</em> from the shittiness of their home life. He thought he might have <strong>actually</strong> succeeded in some regard, but even <em>she</em> apparently realizes that their parents <strong>aren’t</strong> fucking normal—or more <em>evidently</em>, believes they <strong><em>are</em></strong>, so she doesn’t <em>want</em> normal.</p><p>Their marriage most definitively <strong>isn’t</strong> one to be <strong>striven</strong> for, and their dad’s brutality is sure as fuck, <strong><em>not</em></strong> a good thing.</p><p>She climbs up onto his lap and <em>pushes</em> her face into his covered neck, while <strong>sobbing</strong>, bodily in his arms.</p><p>He doesn’t know <em>how</em> to soothe her, this time. How to <strong>rectify</strong> this damage that he’s <em>apparently</em> done, without making it <strong>all</strong> worse.</p><p>He’d <em>always</em> planned to <strong>stop</strong> embodying <em>‘Mysterion’</em> once his sister attained an age where she no longer <strong>needed</strong> him to, but he is now starting to realize, she’s <em>never</em> going to be ready for him to stop if <em>this</em> continues.</p><p><em>“Karen …”</em> he closes his eyes and counts to <em>ten</em> in his head, trying to work out <strong>what</strong> to do—how to <strong><em>fix</em></strong> this.</p><p>She nuzzles closer, then goes <em>still</em>. Her head draws back from his neck and her <strong>eyes</strong> train down, staring at his crotch.</p><p>In all the <em>rigmarole</em> he temporarily forgot that his crotch is still <strong><em>soaked</em></strong> in his seed—and his boy-part, still <em>stiff</em> with <strong>lingering</strong> desire. Years of experimenting with <em>Stan</em> helped build-up his stamina, and <strong><em>readiness</em></strong> to go again.</p><p>Karen curiously reaches down and <em>brushes</em> the area, observing the <strong>wet</strong> patch—and his <em>stiffness</em>.</p><p>He has to stifle a <em>noise</em> when she touches him, and he squirms a <em>bit</em> underneath her.</p><p><em>“You</em> liked it, <strong><em>too</em></strong><em>?</em> Didn’t you, <em>Angel?”</em> she works out, cleverly.</p><p>She’s always been <strong><em>so</em></strong> damned smart.</p><p>“You <em>do</em> love me, more than <strong>everyone</strong> else … and you <strong>protect</strong> me, all the time …” she tilts up her chin. “So, why would you <em>ever</em> want to stop? <em>Why,</em> Angel? Why do you <em>want</em> to leave me all alone?”</p><p>He sighs and guides her hand <em>away</em> from his sensitive bits.</p><p>“It’s not about what <em>I</em> want, Karen. It’s about keeping <strong><em>you</em></strong> safe, okay? And you’re <em>safest</em> with someone else. You’ll <strong><em>love</em></strong> someone else, I <em>promise</em>, Karen. But right now, I think it’s time <em>I</em> stopped coming.”</p><p>Karen’s eyes <em>widen</em> and her expression glosses over with <strong>more</strong> tears.</p><p><em>“W-What?”</em> she breathes out, and he takes the opportunity <em>presented</em> by her shock to climb from her bed.</p><p>“You <strong><em>are</em></strong> Wendy, and <em>I’m </em>Peter, okay? And Wendy will <strong><em>always</em></strong> have to grow up,” he explains gently.</p><p>Karen squeezes her doll tight and stares at him with <em>horrified</em> eyes. “Please … <strong><em>Please</em></strong> don’t <em>do</em> this, Angel!” she sobs, “I won’t be <strong>selfish</strong> anymore … just <em>please</em> <em>… <strong>please</strong></em> don’t <strong>leave</strong> me!”</p><p>Kenny doesn’t <em>want</em> to leave, but he feels so guilty about <em>everything</em>—<em>about</em> <strong><em>tonight</em></strong>—that he can’t <strong>face</strong> it. He can’t face what he’s <em>done</em>.</p><p>“It’s for your <strong><em>own</em></strong> good, Karen.” He insists and turns towards the window, and climbs out and through, turning back to glimpse Karen, positioned on her bed. <em>Nuzzling</em> her face into her doll with tears and sobs wracking from her <strong>tiny</strong> frame.</p><p>“You <em>promised</em> you would make it <em>all</em> better … but you only made it <strong>worse</strong> …” she whimpers out, without looking at him.</p><p>His heart <em>tugs</em> in his chest. “I <em>know,</em> Karen, I <em>know,”</em> he admits, “I was <strong><em>never</em></strong> good for anyone.” With that, he disappears into the night, and reluctantly returns to his <strong>own</strong> bedroom.</p><p>He changes <em>out</em> of his suit and cleans himself off, before he <em>climbs</em> into bed, pushing his face into the pillow, <em>exhaustedly</em>.</p><p>He’s <strong>dead</strong> tired and feels like <em>complete</em> shit. It’s not a particularly <strong>new</strong> feeling, but its not one he’s awfully familiar with when it relates to <strong><em>Karen</em></strong>.</p><p>She’s the <strong><em>one</em></strong> thing he’s <em>always</em> done right …</p><p>A few minutes later, a <em>low</em> knock sounds at his door and he climbs back out and <strong>clicks</strong> the lock. When he opens it, Karen, is standing there, holding the stuffed doll he bought her, with <em>tearful</em> eyes.</p><p><em>“K-Kenny …”</em> she whines, and his heart <strong>breaks</strong> as he realizes he’s the <em>second</em> person she would go to for <strong>comfort</strong>.</p><p>She cries for ‘<em>Mysterion</em>,’ until <strong>he </strong><em>inevitably</em> shows up … now that <strong><em>he’s</em></strong> gone, she <strong>still</strong> finds a way to <em>his</em> room … to her <em>big brother.</em></p><p>“What’s <em>wrong,</em> Kare-Bear?” he asks in his warm, soft voice.</p><p>She leaps into his arms and he <strong>catches</strong> her, cuddling her close to his chest. Because, he might be able to turn her away as <em>‘Mysterion,’</em> but that much could <em>never</em> be true as Kenny … her <strong>doting</strong> big brother. He has absolutely <strong><em>no</em></strong> excuse for doing so.</p><p>“I … I <em>want</em> to sleep with <strong>you</strong>, tonight,” she whimpers out.</p><p>He kisses the <em>side</em> of her head and smiles, gently. “You’re <strong><em>always</em></strong> welcome here, you <em>know</em> that, Kare.”</p><p>She nods and he <em>locks</em> the door, again. Carrying her to his bed, he settles down with her <strong>underneath</strong> the covers.</p><p>He holds her and she <em>eventually</em> falls asleep and he prays to, God, that he can keep the strength <strong>necessary</strong> to hold off on being</p><p><em>‘Mysterion.’</em> At least for a <strong><em>little</em></strong> while.</p><p>He <strong>does</strong> hold off—for a <strong><em>week</em></strong>.</p><p>And then he’s in her bedroom, <em>again</em>, and she’s begging him for <em>touches</em>—and he <strong>gives</strong> in.</p><p>So much for being <strong><em>strong</em></strong>.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>vii. heartbreak &amp; factoids.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Present.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Karen doesn’t <em>ask</em> what happened with, Stan, she doesn’t fucking <strong>have</strong> to, because he’s a <em>goddamned</em> mess.</p><p>He’s all <em>tears</em> and <strong>unemotive</strong> sentences. He’s a lot of <em>different</em> things, none of which are <em>remotely</em> pleasant.</p><p>But he made a <strong>promise</strong> to, Karen, one he <em>intends</em> to keep—no more <strong>suicides</strong>. <em>Ever.</em></p><p>No matter <strong><em>how</em></strong> shitty he may feel.</p><p>And he <strong>does</strong> feel <em>fucking</em> <strong><em>shitty</em></strong><em>.</em></p><p>“Kenny, you don’t <strong>have</strong> to talk about it … but … I think it might be a <em>good</em> thing if you do,” Karen admits, while half-concealed <em>under</em> the covers of his bed, her mussed-up hair, <strong>cascading</strong> down her back.</p><p>“It doesn’t, fucking <strong><em>matter</em></strong>, Kare. <em>Okay?</em> It’s over now and I don’t <em>want</em> to fucking talk about it,” Kenny tells her, while puffing on a joint, trying to clear his head.</p><p>He barely had them <em>both</em> stripped of their clothes, before he had a <strong>meltdown</strong> and couldn’t follow through with the intimacy they’ve <em>always</em> shared together.</p><p>All he can think about, whenever he comes <strong>close</strong> to going all the way, is Kevin’s <em>brutality</em>, last night. He can’t seem to <em>shake</em> the words <strong>meant</strong> to break into his mind and <em>steal</em> his sanity—and he can’t <strong>stop</strong> thinking about <em>Stan</em> laughing at him and calling him a <em>‘hole’</em> as if that <strong><em>somehow</em></strong> was fine and dandy.</p><p>His hand <em>trembles</em>, and he wipes a <strong>few</strong> stray tears off his cheeks, as he puffs a few more <em>times</em> on his smoked-down joint, and puts out the <strong>stub</strong> on his dresser.</p><p>He’s not <em>any</em> calmer, despite the <strong>attempt</strong>—and he shifts until he’s settled down on his <strong><em>right</em></strong> side, facing Karen.</p><p>He’s fucked up so <em>many</em> things in so many different ways, and he wonders if he ever really <strong>fixed</strong> anything at all.</p><p>By pursuing that <em>twisted</em> relationship with, Stan, did he ever really <em>help</em> at all? Did it ever even <strong><em>mean</em></strong> anything at all? It was all done in the dark—<em>in <strong>private</strong></em>—and his body was <strong>used</strong> by Stan’s for <strong><em>fucks</em></strong>.</p><p>Same as, <em>Kevin,</em> used and abused <em>him</em> last night.</p><p>Maybe it took being <em>fucked</em> by his own perverted brother to finally show him what a <strong>disgusting</strong> mess he’s been <strong><em>existing</em></strong> as, all along.</p><p>Karen is the purest human he <em>knows</em>, and he realizes that the reason behind his inability to be with <strong>her</strong>, now, stems from the fact that he’s <em>damaged</em> goods. Not <strong><em>just</em></strong> damaged goods, but underserving damaged goods.</p><p>All those <em>years</em> ago, when he told her she needed to find <strong>someone</strong> else <em>(the first time)</em> he’d been <strong><em>right</em></strong>.</p><p>First loves aren’t your <strong><em>only</em></strong> loves, but he’s always been inclined to <em>believe</em> they just <strong>might</strong> be, because of <strong><em>Stan</em></strong><em>.</em></p><p>Seven long years of loving and devoting <em>slots</em> of his time and heart—<em>to Stan. </em></p><p>And what does he have to <strong>show</strong> for it?</p><p>Stan’s <em>mockery</em>.</p><p>He doesn’t <em>want</em> Karen to turn around and find that she’s done what <strong><em>he</em></strong> has—devoted years of her life to someone that turns out to be a fucking <em>disappointment</em>.</p><p>Because, he can’t <strong>possibly</strong> see himself as anything <em>shy</em> of a disappointment.</p><p>How <strong><em>can</em></strong> he be?</p><p>“He <em>hurt</em> you, didn’t he, <strong><em>Angel</em></strong><em>?”</em> She lifts her hand and cups his cheek, catching him off guard and he makes a <strong>little</strong> sigh in his throat, a single tear trickles down his face and she catches it on her thumb.</p><p><em>“Kare-Bear—”</em> he starts to <em>sigh</em> out, trying to work out a way to brush her off.</p><p>“You don’t <strong>have</strong> to tell me about it. I <em>know</em> you’re hurting pretty bad, though. I can <strong>see</strong> it, in your eyes,” she hesitates momentarily, then starts up again<em>. “Unless …</em> this is about <strong><em>Kevin</em></strong><em>.”</em></p><p>He <strong>jerks</strong> his cheek away from her grasp, <em>violently</em>, and sits back up. Trying to ignore the ever-encroaching <strong>panic</strong> when he thinks about, <em>Kevin</em>, now.</p><p>She sits up, too, and plants her <strong>hands</strong> on his chest, <em>calmly</em> whispering, <em>“Fuck—</em>I’m <strong>sorry</strong> … I didn’t mean to set you <em>off</em> … I’m <em>sorry ...”</em></p><p>His hands reach for hers and grip them tight, with a tremendous sigh, trying to <strong>stabilize</strong> his racing thoughts.</p><p>“It’s <em>not …”</em> he shakes his head and clears his throat, then reopens his eyes, after a second, “It’s about <strong>me</strong>, Kare. I give so much to <em>everyone …</em> and I feel like I’m losing <strong>myself</strong> in this fucking storm. And it’s <em>difficult</em> to breathe, sometimes, Kare. It’s fucking <strong><em>impossible</em></strong> to just … just <em>exist!”</em></p><p>She reaches for his hands and <em>entwines</em> them together, linking their almost-equally soft skin, as one.</p><p>“I <strong><em>would</em></strong> take care of <strong>you</strong>, sometimes, <em>too</em>, Angel. If you’d <strong>let</strong> me, that is …” she insists with a little <strong>brush</strong> of her nose to his cheek.</p><p>He releases her <em>hand</em> and cups her chin, drawing her in to <strong>steal</strong> a kiss. It’s <em>rough</em> and <strong>short</strong>, but it does the trick of <strong>steadying</strong> him.</p><p>“One day, Kare-Bear, you’re <strong><em>going</em></strong> to wake up and you’re going to realize what I’ve <strong><em>done</em></strong> to you,” he relays, with a cracked voice, “and you’re going to fucking <em>hate</em> me. What will I do then? Huh? What <em>then?”</em></p><p>He takes in the genuinely <em>shocked</em> expression on her face, followed by her gloomy pout. She, then, shakes her head a couple times, <strong>expressing</strong> her confusion.</p><p>“I could never <em>hate</em> you, Angel. That could <strong><em>never</em></strong> happen,” she persists, but his heart just <strong><em>bleeds</em></strong> and <strong><em>aches</em></strong>.</p><p>“I believed that <strong>myself</strong> once, about first loves. First loves are <em>supposed</em> to be beautiful and pure. They are <strong><em>never</em></strong> supposed to fade or flicker out, because they’re <em>supposed</em> to be the most <strong><em>powerful</em></strong> kind of love. But I don’t think that’s <em>true</em> anymore, Kare-Bear. They can die and turn twisted and <strong>gross</strong> like any other kind of love … and then we’re left with fucking <strong><em>nothing</em></strong>. Just an empty fucking hole <em>inside</em> where that perfect love <strong>used</strong> to be. So, tell me Kare, what would <strong><em>you</em></strong> feel for me if that love were <strong>broken</strong>? Huh? How would you feel about that <strong><em>first</em></strong> night … in my <strong>arms</strong> … when I fucking <strong><em>left</em></strong> you and told you I <em>wouldn’t</em> come back?”</p><p>He watches her eyes for flickers of emotion and finds them to be <strong>mixed</strong> with too many to decipher just a single one.</p><p>“I would feel the <em>same</em> as I do, right now,” she scoots closer and Kenny tries not to bask in the heat of her—but it feels so heavenly.</p><p>“And how’s <em>that?”</em> he relents, wishing he could make her understand how things will someday be.</p><p>
  <em>“Lucky.”</em>
</p><p>He snorts and rubs his eyes. “You feel <strong>lucky</strong>? Lucky that I <strong><em>abandoned</em></strong> you? <em>Jesus</em> <em>Christ</em>, Kare …” he mutters.</p><p>“<strong>No</strong>. I feel lucky—<em>felt lucky</em>—because <strong>Mysterion</strong> may have <em>abandoned</em> me that night, but I still had <strong><em>you</em></strong>, Kenny. I still had my <em>big brother</em>, down the hall, who <strong>opened</strong> his door and let me <em>in</em> and cuddled me <strong>all</strong> night long. You’re my <strong><em>first</em></strong> love, Kenny. <strong><em>Not</em></strong> Mysterion.”</p><p>He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. “We’re the <em>same</em>, Karen. And besides, <strong><em>I’m</em></strong> your brother. I shouldn’t <strong><em>be</em></strong> your first love, that’s the <strong>whole</strong> fucking problem. It’s <strong><em>always</em></strong> been the problem …”</p><p>She sighs. “Stan’s <strong><em>not</em></strong> your first love, Kenny.”</p><p>His eyes snap to hers and she smiles, <em>knowingly</em> at him with her head tilted slightly.</p><p>“He <em>is</em>, Kare-Bear. You were <strong>right</strong> all along.” He decides that he can’t <em>lie</em> to her about this anymore and there is no point to keeping up the <strong>pretense</strong>. She’s too <strong><em>smart</em></strong> for her own good and often <strong><em>wise</em></strong> well beyond her years.</p><p>“Kenny … <strong>think</strong> about it,” she orders and he gives her a lopsided smile. It’s the <em>best</em> he can muster under the strain of so <strong>many</strong> fucking emotions.</p><p>“I don’t <strong><em>need</em></strong> to think about it, Kare. <em>Alright?</em> I fucking <strong>loved</strong> him and he found a way to fucking <em>break</em> it all to bits.”</p><p>Karen shakes her head at him and <strong>pushes</strong> her lips against his, hotly. His skin turns <em>fiery</em> and he has to pull away after a moment, from the <strong>overwhelming</strong> sensation of it.</p><p>“When I was <strong><em>born</em></strong>, do you <em>remember</em> it?” she asks, causing his heart to surge with emotion.</p><p>“Yeah, of <strong>course</strong> I do.” Kenny can still see her trussed up in her <em>little</em> blanket, suckling on her <strong>fingers</strong> as she slept hours after her birth. He was <em>inside</em> their parent’s bedroom when she was <strong>born</strong>. Their parents didn’t even have <em>time</em> to make it to a hospital—she demanded to be born right <strong>there</strong> in their bed.</p><p>His father shoved her into his arms, told him to <em>quiet</em> her down. Bundle her up with a <strong>blanket</strong> or something—and he <strong><em>had</em></strong>.</p><p>“And the <em>first</em> time you showed up in my <strong>room</strong>, as Mysterion, remember <em>that?”</em> she coaxes and his <strong>mind</strong> takes him back to that moment.</p><p>She’d been old enough to start remembering at three and he’d wanted better for her, so he’d <em>dressed</em> up as a superhero and comforted her. Wiping her tears and telling her everything would be fine. He was her <strong>guardian</strong> and she’d always be safe with him …</p><p>“Everything you <em>did</em> was because you <strong><em>loved</em></strong> me. Everything you <strong><em>do</em></strong> is because you love me, still …”</p><p>He can’t <em>argue</em> with her on that front, she’s right about it all. Their fucked-up love only began out of a twisted sense of obligation he had, to soothe her tears. It’s <strong>developed</strong> quite a bit, since then. And so has his love for her. It’s only deepened.</p><p>“You loved me, <strong><em>first</em></strong>, Kenny. Isn’t <strong>that</strong> true? You loved me, before you <em>ever</em> loved him. I’m your first love, Kenny. Stan’s your second. Love doesn’t have <strong>one</strong> meaning, but <em>many</em>. That’s what you tell me, <strong><em>all</em></strong> the time. You tell me I love you <em>because</em> you’re my brother. And I <strong>do</strong>, but I love you <em>deeper</em> than that—just like you’ve always loved <strong><em>me</em></strong> deeper than you should.”</p><p>Kenny’s thought about his sister <em>a lot</em>. Over the years, he’s thought about the <strong>various</strong> ways he’s fucked their relationship into the ground, and he’s <em>recognized</em> his own failures in full.</p><p>For the <strong>first</strong> time he can see it from <em>her</em> side—from her <strong>reality</strong>—and it’s different than he <em>thought</em> it would be.</p><p>To her—<em>despite</em> his failures—he’s <strong>still</strong> larger than life for her.</p><p>And their <em>love</em> is layered, not merely <strong>romanticized</strong> in her point of view like he <strong><em>once</em></strong> believed.</p><p>He <em>also</em> realizes, through the <strong>haze</strong> of drugs and booze that he is in <em>love</em> with her—and maybe that love <strong>can</strong> be considered <em>his</em> first. Karen’s always come first, even <strong><em>before</em></strong> Stan.</p><p>So … maybe she’s <em>right</em>.</p><p>“I suppose you <strong>are</strong>, Kare-Bear,” he relents, unable to fight her will any longer.</p><p>He doesn’t <strong><em>want</em></strong> to be damaged, because of Stan—<strong><em>and</em></strong> Kevin.</p><p>He <strong>wants</strong> to find someone to make him <strong><em>whole</em></strong> and right in the head.</p><p>Stan <em>fractured</em> his spirit, but Karen would <strong>never</strong> do that to him. She’s, too, <em>pure</em> for this world—to loving to <strong>ever</strong> steer him off the path into <em>detriment</em> just because, like Stan has.</p><p>“I <strong><em>am</em></strong>,” she persists and sucks a <strong>hicky</strong> into his neck, making him <em>squirm</em> a little from the sensation. When she <strong>draws</strong> back her eyes are lit up again, like sapphires. “Stan can go <strong><em>fuck</em></strong> himself, okay? If he doesn’t think you’re <strong>good</strong> enough then who needs him, <em>anyway?</em> Right? You’re good enough to <strong>me</strong>. You’re perfectly <em>tailored</em> to be my soulmate.”</p><p>He furrows his brows and stumbles through a laugh. “Oh, Kare … I’m no one’s <strong><em>fucking</em></strong> soulmate, okay?” he sighs. “I don’t think <em>those</em> exist …”</p><p>“Well <em>I</em> think they <strong>do</strong>, exist. And you’re <em>mine</em>,” she maintains with a dogged smirk.</p><p>“I fucked up <strong>too</strong> badly this last time to be <strong>any</strong> kind of <em>soulmate</em> to you, Kare-Bear. Just <strong>look</strong> at you, hm?” he gestures to the black strands of her hair and the <strong>piercings</strong> on her lip and nose.</p><p>She <em>rifles</em> her hands through his golden-blonde hair and swipes a <strong>kiss</strong> against his pout, candidly. “You’re <em>always</em> going on about how fucking <strong><em>damaged</em></strong> you are, Angel. <em>Now</em>, we match,” she defends, subtly.</p><p>He laughs and wraps his arms <em>around</em> her waist. “I’m not <em>exactly</em> a model figure to <strong>strive</strong> for, Sweetheart,” he teases between firm kisses to her pout. One right <em>after</em> the other.</p><p>He doesn’t even <strong>realize</strong> that all of his apprehensions have faded <em>away</em> at some point and all he can think about <strong>currently</strong>, is the hot press of her in his lap. She’s like <em>home</em> and <strong>love</strong> all wrapped into one and it’s <strong><em>really</em></strong> messing with his head.</p><p>“I want to <em>spend</em> the rest of the day in here—<em>with <strong>you</strong></em>. Do you think we <strong>can</strong>, Angel?” she asks with a <em>bat</em> of her eyelashes.</p><p>He shakes his head with a little sigh. “I <em>swear</em>, Kare-Bear … You’re gonna be the fucking <strong>death</strong> of me.”</p><p>“Is that a <em>yes?”</em></p><p>“I have nothing <strong>better</strong> to do, have I?” he has absolutely no intentions of going to see his ‘friends’ today. He doesn’t want to risk running into Stan.</p><p>Things are gonna be fucking <em>complicated</em> from now on, and he’s not looking forward to it.</p><p><em>“Yay!”</em> she squeals and tackles him to his mattress, covering his face in kisses.</p>
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